ROBERT 
BURNS 


EDWARD 

WJNSLOW 

GJLLJAM 


The  Cornbtt/  Company 


ROBERT    BURNS 


A  Drama  in  Four  Acts 


Author  of  "  The  Rector  of  Hazlehursi " 
"  The  Foundling,"  etc. 


THE  CORNHILL  COMPANY 

BOSTON 


Copyright,  1914,  by 

BD.  W.  GILLIAM.  M.  D. 

Baltimore.  Md. 


All  rights  reserved 

CopvrigM,  by  Ed.  W.  Gilliam,  M.  D.,  as  dramatic  composition. 

"Robert  Bums."     All  rights  reserved,   including   that 

of  translation  into  foreign  languages 


A  FOREWORD 

Robert  Burns  —  Born  January  25,  1757;  died  July  21,  1796. 
A  great,  but  ill-fated  genius.  Author  of  his  own  beautiful 
epitaph: 

Is  there  a  whim-inspired  fool, 

Owre  fast  for  thought,  owre  hot  for  rule, 

Owre  blate  to  seek,  owre  proud  to  snool? 

Let  him  draw  near, 
And  owre  this  grassy  heap  sing  dool, 

And  drap  a  tear. 

Is  there  a  bard  of  rustic  song, 

Who,  noteless,  steals  the  crowds  among, 

That  weekly  this  area  throng? 

O  pass  not  by ! 
But,  with  a  frater  feeling  strong, 

Here  heave  a  sigh. 

Is  there  a  man,  whose  judgment  clear 
Can  others  teach  the  course  to  steer, 
Yet  runs  himself  life's  mad  career, 

Wild  as  the  wave? 
Here  pause,  and,  through  the  starting  tear, 

Survey  this  grave. 

The  poor  inhabitant  below 

Was  quick  to  learn,  and  wise  to  know, 

And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow, 

And  softer  flame; 
But  thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low, 

And  stained  his  name. 


vi  FOREWORD 

Reader,  attend:  Whether  thy  soul 
Soars  fancy's  flights  beyond  the  pole, 
Or,  darkling,  grubs  this  earthly  hole 

In  low  pursuit, 
Know:  Prudent,  cautious,  self-control 

Is  urisdom's  root! 

More  than  one  play,  we  learn,  presenting  Robert  Burns, 
have  been  produced  in  Scotland,  but  with  indifferent  success. 
The  reasons  given  are  the  unhappy  incidents  in  the  life  of  the 
Bard,  and  his  unseemly  and  lamentable  end. 

But  these  distressing  features  belong  to  the  pen  of  the 
biographer,  who  must  needs  present  the  Bard  in  his  totality, 
not  to  that  of  the  dramatist,  who  rather  selects,  in  his  ca- 
reer, an  illustrative  point  of  distinction.  The  author,  there- 
fore, has  chosen,  for  the  final  and  crowning  scene,  the  plow- 
man Poet's  brilliant  advent  among  the  wits  and  bloods  of 
Edinburgh,  declared  by  Sir  Walter  Scott  the  most  remarkable 
event  in  the  annals  of  literature  —  the  scene  in  the  Edin- 
burgh salon  of  the  Duchess  of  Gordon  —  a  scene  representa- 
tive of  the  Bard's  world-wide  triumph. 

The  Drama  is  a  life  of  Burns,  set  dramatically.  Nothing 
artificial.  A  real  life.  The  leading  events  of  his  career  are 
drawn,  historically  correct,  and  substantially  in  historic 
sequence.  An  occasional  unimportant  bit  of  dramatic 
license  will,  we  hope,  be  allowed. 

The  author  himself  somewhat  of  a  Scotchman  (by  re- 
mote extraction),  the  Drama,  in  the  sum  of  its  changes,  has 
been  the  enthusiastic  work  of  half  a  dozen  years. 

Apart  from  the  direct  quotations  the  Drama  is  replete,  it  is 
hoped,  with  a  Burns'  atmosphere. 

The  reader  will  note  many  indirect  quotations,  where  the 
marks  are  not  and  could  not  be  given,  seeing  the  context 
required  the  author  to  introduce  a  word  or  sentence  of  his 


FOREWORD  vii 

own.  Noticeable  in  takings  from  Tarn  O'Shanter,  and  other 
pieces. 

The  temper  of  the  Pastors,  in  Act  II,  is  not  overdrawn. 
They  meet  to  concert  measures  against  Burns,  whose  ful- 
minations  had  lampooned  them  unmercifully.  At  that  day 
the  hold  of  Calvinism  in  West  Scotland  was  disputed  by 
Arminianism  and  Socinianism.  The  Kirk  was  divided  into 
warring  factions,  known  respectively  as  Old  Lights,  and  New 
Lights  —  high  Calvinists,  on  the  one  hand,  and,  on  the  other, 
"  Moderates,"  supposed  to  squint  toward  Arminianism. 
Between  these  factions  the  quarrel  was  bitter,  and  the  coun- 
try-side half  mad  over  it. 

The  public  appearance  of  Burns  on  the  scene,  as  the  cham- 
pion of  the  New  Lights,  intensified  the  quarrel  tremendously. 
The  few  written-out  pieces  of  the  "  Rustic  Bard,"  in  the 
plowman's  cramped  hand  (as  shown  in  fac-similes),  distrib- 
uted to  his  friends  —  among  the  pieces  shafts  at  the  Old 
Lights  —  had  aroused  great  interest.  When  it  became 
known  his  poems  were  passing  through  the  Kilmarnoch 
press,  interest  mounted.  The  booklet  appeared.  To  Ayr- 
shire it  was  a  revelation. 

In  the  Kirk  circles,  excitement  rose  to  fever-heat.  Burns 
was  the  central  figure.  He  had  taken  risks.  The  scathing 
satire  in  "The  Kirk's  Alarm  "  —  unequalled  for  severity  — 
let  fly  both  at  the  Old  Light  Pastors  personally,  and  at  their 
doctrine  in  controversy,  these  Pastors  being  at  the  front 
among  the  distinguished  men  of  their  communities  —  at  a 
critical  hour,  too,  when  these  Pastors  were  profoundly  aroused 
over  a  bitter  quarrel  with  the  New  Light  party,  a  quarrel  in- 
volving the  congregations,  and,  in  fact,  all  West  Scotland  — 
for  a  young  country-side  plowman  to  let  fly  arrows  so  sharp 
at  such  parties,  was,  antecedently,  exceedingly  hazardous. 
It  was  a  situation  our  day  scarcely  can  realize. 

Burns  saw  the  risk  and  boldly  dared  it.     Fortune  favors 


viii  FOREWORD 

the  brave.  The  Bard's  fulminations,  now  out  in  plain  print, 
and  snapped  up  and  jollified  over  by  the  public,  the  New 
Lights  received  with  roars  —  the  Old  Lights,  with  wrath 
and  alarm. 

The  affiliated  Old  Light  Pastors  of  the  Mauchline  district 
(the  Bard's  residence,)  meet,  in  Act  II,  in  anti-Burns  Ses- 
sion. Divisions  among  themselves  spring  up.  Some,  while 
denouncing  the  fulminations,  applaud  their  genius,  Scotch 
pride  insinuating  itself  into  kirk  loyalty.  Hence  suspicions. 
Hence  the  breeze  between  Reverends  Peebles  and  Russell,  as 
given  in  the  Drama. 

The  plot  fallen  upon  is  to  entrap  and  imprison  Burns,  upon 
warrant  connected  with  his  relations  with  his  sweetheart, 
Jean  Armour,  in  the  hope  that  his  well-known  extreme  sensi- 
tiveness would  work  a  jail  suicide;  Burns  counter-planning 
in  an  effort  to  foil  his  enemies  by  embarking  for  the  West 
Indies. 

We  all  know  Burns'  failings,  and  the  lamentable  issue  of 
his  life.  With  this  the  Drama  has  naught  to  do.  As  among 
the  remarkable  men  of  the  world  —  as  the  most  remarkable, 
perhaps,  of  his  day  —  as  a  great  national  Poet,  with  patriotic 
societies  in  every  city  organized  around  him  —  as  one  of  the 
great  poets  —  as  the  Poet  of  the  plain  people  and  of  democ- 
racy —  as  an  extraordinary  genius  —  and  as,  in  his  writings, 
a  living  delight  among  all  English  speaking  peoples  —  he  is 
here  presented  in  his  notable  triumph  in  the  salon  of  the  Duch- 
ess of  Gordon,  eclipsing,  within  his  range  of  subjects,  the  wits 
and  bloods  of  the  Capital  greeting  him  there  —  a  star  of 
magnitude,  whose  shining  grows  with  the  generations. 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

ROBERT  BURNS  —  alias  Nannie  Brice,  alias  Andrew  Cargill. 

GILBERT  BURNS. 

JEAN  ARMOUR. 

JOHNNIE  PEACOCK,  Bailiff. 

DAVID  BRICE. 

OLD  LIGHT  PASTORS  —  in  meeting. 

DUCHESS   OF    GORDON    and    company   in   her  Edinburgh 
Salon. 


ACT  I 


ROBERT  BURNS 


ACT  I 


Scene:  Evening.  A  barn-yard.  DAVID  BRICE  discovered, 
with  lantern.  Enter  ROBERT  BURNS.  He  is  seen  a  singularly 
attractive  young  countryman.  Clothes  of  plowman  —  soiled 
and  disordered  by  circumstances  of  pursuit.  Broad  blue  bon- 
net covers  head.  Visage  haggard  —  showing  all  the  passions 
of  soul  in  commotion.  He  rushes  in,  wildly  excited. 


BRICE  (lifting  lantern,  to  scrutinize):  Jee,  jee!  Robie  Burns? 

ROBIN:  Ay,  Davie  Brice  —  fugitive  frae  your  brither  Willie's 
hay-loft  —  wi'  bailiff  at  my  heels  to  serve  warrant  for 
ten  pounds,  or  Robin's  proud  and  independent  stomach 
to  rave  in  jail!  Lord  of  grace  and  power,  help  the  help- 
less! 

BRICE:  Does  bailiff  follow  on  here? 

ROBIN:  Not  yet  at  Willie's  has  been  the  coof  —  but  be  re- 
ported hot  on  the  way  thither. 

Ten  pounds,  Davie,  when  my  pouch  be  a  baubee,  and  I 
must  skulk  frae  covert  to  covert,  till  Greenock  clears  her 
West  Indies  brigantine,  and  frae  a  berth  afore  the  mast 
say  fareweel  to  a'  sae  dear !  God  of  mercy  befriend  the 
friendless ! 

BRICE:  But  no  fareweel  for  aye,  Robin  —  na,  na.  Ye'll  be 
back  a  year  and  a  day,  wi'  fortune  mended,  clouds  blawn 
aff,  and  arms  and  hearts  wide  to  receive  ye. 

ROBIN  (intense):  Fortune  mended!  Alas!  Davie,  misfortune 
stares  my  face,  pointing  to  ruin  and  disgrace.  Fareweel 


4  ROBERT  BURNS 

to  Scotland,  to  dear  auld  Scotland,  fareweel,  fareweel! 
(Pause  —  grief  demonstrations.} 

And  to  you,  too,  my  bonnie  Jean,  must  I  say  fareweel? 
What  bursting  anguish  tears  my  heart! — Jean,  Jean,  Jean, 
what  lover  ever  sae  adored?   I  thought  mysel'  the  lucki- 
est lad!  How  can  she  frae  the  fondest  lover  part? 
(Pause  —  grief  demonstrations.} 

ROBIN:  If  that  ten  pounds,  by  parish  law,  be  for  the  child 
unborn,  can  it  be  called  impure?  Didna  I  gie  her  full 
written  acknowledgment  —  held,  hi  our  degree,  to  cover 
a'  the  ground,  legal  and  moral  —  to  be,  by  formal  mar- 
riage, ratified  on  my  return?  Wretched,  wretched  wo- 
man, she  has  destroyed  it,  I  hear.  —  Deil  tak  me,  but  yet 
I  do  love  the  jade! 
(Intensely  aroused  —  wild  action.} 

BRICE:  Come,  Robin,  come.  You're  worn,  and  wild,  and 
stricken.  Come,  tak  the  hay,  as  chance  offers.  They've 
hunted  you  out  of  rest  night  and  day.  You'll  soon  be  far 
a-sea,  headin'  for  better  times,  and  cheatin'  jail.  Ay,  ay, 
Robin,  the  hour  looks  dark,  but  ye'll  yet  toss  your  tail 
and  cock  your  horns  fu'  canty.  If  need  be,  my  whistle 
(blows  whistle)  will  report  the  bailiff. 
(By  outside  ladder  Robin  mounts  to  loft.  Brice  busies  him- 
self within  barn.  Comes  out.  Stands  in  thought.  Sud- 
denly looks  up  at  loft,  intently  listening,  Reassured  as  to 
sound,  speaks}: 

BRICE:  Naithing,  naithing.   Just  a  turn  a-bed.   Asleep,  poor 
hounded  soul,  as  he  touches  the  hay. 
(Enter  Jean  Armour,  a  winsome  lassie.} 

BRICE:  Wow!  Jean  Armour!   What's  up,  to  be  at  such  a 
place,  and  at  such  an  hour? 

JEAN  (heart-stricken  —  intense} :  I  must  see  Robin.  Hidin' 
here,  the  cot-house  tells  me.   Up  there  (pointing  to  loft}? 

BRICE  :  Sure  as  we're  down  here. 


ROBERT  BURNS  5 

JEAN:  Ay,  David  Brice,  I  must  see  Robin  —  must  see  him, 
David  Brice  —  I  must  see  him  afore  he  leaves.  My 
heart's  breakin'. 

BRICE:  And  Robin's,  as  weel.   The  cut  of  the  marriage  lines 
in  his  acknowledgment,  has  cut  Robin's  veins. 
(Jean  bursts  into  tears.) 
(Pause.) 

JEAN  (passionately) :  Oh !  Davie,  Davie,  are  you  na  my  kin 
and  my  friend?  You  know  a'  my  trouble,  and  I  know 
verra'  weel  you  bear  nae  flinty  heart  that  canna  feel. 
Sair  did  I  weep  and  mickle  did  I  say.  As  you  wot,  my 
father,  enraged,  did  sae  bear  down  on  me,  and,  at  his 
order,  the  lawyer-man  did  cut  the  lines. 
(Weeps.  Pause.) 

JEAN:  Oh!  I  hae  wronged  Robin,  and  I  hae  wronged  mysel'. 
All  this  I  must  tell  Robin  afore  he  leaves  Scotland. 
(Pause.) 

And  him  sae  dear  to  me  I  must  warn  against  this  bailiff- 
man;  for  this  verra'  hour  sure  and  certain  news  reaches 
me  —  and  sae,  too,  hae  I  come  —  that  some  coof  has 
given  Robin  awa',  and  bailiff-man  be  now  on  his  track  to 
Brice's  barn  —  yours,  or  Willie's.  (Pause.) 
And  besides,  I  wad  press  Robin  for  anither  acknowledg- 
ment, and  he  wad  know  that  father  and  mither  and  a' 
should  gae  mad  afore  a  cut  again. 

All  this  wad  I  tell  Robin,  to  hear  him  say  he  forgives  me, 
and  that  he  loves  me.   How  can  he  break  a  heart  that 
keeps  him  in  its  core? 
(Weeps.   Pause.) 

BRICE:  I  can  speak  for  Robin,  Jean,  that  he  loves  you  still. 

JEAN  (joyfully):  Ha!  Has  he  told  you  sae? 

BRICE:  Have  na  I  heard  his  heart  distractions? 

JEAN  (imploringly):  Oh!  David  Brice,  for  the  Lord's  sake, 
let  me  hear  his  distractions.  I  beseech,  I  implore,  by 


6  ROBERT  BURNS 

these  tears,  by  my  ain  distractions.   Oh!  shall  I  see  his 
face  again,  and  shall  I  hear  him  speak?   Oh!  shall  I  hear 
him  say,  afore  he  goes  awa',  that  he  loves  me? 
(Pause  —  Jean  reflecting.) 

JEAN:  He  canna  sleep  here,  Davie,  for  that  bailiff -man.  Call 
him  down,  Davie,  call  him  down.  He  must  come  down. 
He  canna  sleep  here  for  the  bailiff -man;  and  Oh!  Davie, 
told  to  you,  at  least  let  me,  aback  that  door  (pointing  to 
barn-door),  hear  his  dear  distractions,  and  that  he  forgives 
me  and  loves  me  still. 
(Pause  —  Brice  reflecting.) 

BRICE  :  They  hae  deeply  wronged  you,  Jean,  wha  should  hae 
been  first  to  know  better,  and  the  turn  you  ask,  you  shall 
have.  This  (showing  whistle)  gives  the  signal.  Stand, 
then,  aback  the  door.  The  first  whistle  calls  Robin.  The 
second,  mind,  swings  the  door  wide. 
(Jean  retires  behind  door.  Brice  gives  keen  whistle.  Robin, 
by  outside  ladder,  hurries  from  loft.) 

ROBIN  (bitterly):  Losh,  man!  in  God's  name  what  now,  what 
now?  Anither  flight  this  night? 

BRICE  :  Hurry  news  up  at  the  cot-house,  that  the  bailiff  has 
a  tip  you're  hidin'  here,  and  he  may  happen  ony  mo- 
ment. 

ROBIN  (bitter  demonstrations):  By  the  Eternal!  Nae  end  to 
this  houndin'? 

BRICE:  We'll  test  the  turn,  Robin,  and  you  may  sleep  here 
yet.  The  cot-house  stands  guard,  and  you'll  hae  time  to 
gie  bailiff  the  slip. 

ROBIN:  The  Lord  stand  wi'  the  hapless!  Amen,  amen!  — 
And  whence  this  hurry  news? 

BRICE:  The  love  of  Jean  Armour. 

ROBIN  (astonished) :  Ha !  —  What !  —  Jean  Armour !  —  Lin- 
gers there  ae  kindly  thought  for  Robin?  (Pauses)  Perdi- 
tion seize  me,  but  I  do  love  her! 


ROBERT  BURNS  7 

BRICE:  And  Jean  loves  Robin. 

ROBIN  (furiously}:  And  here,  thou  son  of  assertion,  be  the 
argument:  She  came  to  my  arms  joyful  and  broad  awake. 
What  has  she  done?  Has  she  na  cut  the  marriage  lines, 
shaking  hersel'  to  Jezabel,  and  hurrying  me  skulkin'  frae 
covert  to  covert,  to  dodge  the  jail,  till  I  can  ship,  by  slip, 
for  Jamaica? 

BRICE  :  Robin,  Robin,  pity  the  repenting,  unhappy  girl,  and 
charge  a  father's  forcing. 

ROBIN:  Lord,  man!  shouldna  a  fair  name's  keeping  have 
braved  him? 

BRICE:  She  be  ready  now,  I  trow,  to  brave  him. 

ROBIN:  How  wot  ye? 

BRICE:  Wad  ye  try  her  wi'  anither  acknowledgment? 

ROBIN  (hesitating  —  then  resolutely) :  She  has  overstepped  the 
mark.  My  poor,  dear,  misguided  Jean!  Davie,  Davie, 
she  has  made  me  completely  miserable.  Never  man  loved 
a  woman  more  than  I  did  her  —  and,  to  confess  a  truth 
atween  us,  after  a'  I  do  love  her  to  distraction.  In  a'  my 
soul  ne'er  has  there  been  place  to  let  a  rival  in.  Whan 
she  wad  look  kindly  upon  anither,  or  whisper,  did  na  a 
draught  of  damnation  cut  through  me?  I  can  hae  nae 
nearer  idea  of  the  place  of  eternal  torment,  than  what  I 
have  felt  in  my  ain  breast  on  her  account.  My  pains  of 
hell  on  earth  are  past,  and  shallna  the  bliss  above  be 
mine?  Aft  hae  I  tried  to  forget  her.  I  hae  run  into  a' 
kinds  of  dissipation  and  riots,  mason  meetings,  drinking 
matches,  and  other  mischief,  to  drive  her  out  of  my  heart 
— but  a'  in  vain.  And  now  for  a  grand  cure.  The  ship  to 
tak  me  out  to  Jamaica,  is  to  clear  this  week,  at  Greenock — 
and  then  fareweel,  fareweel,  fareweel  to  dear  auld  Scotland! 
(Grief  demonstrations.) 

BRICE:  It's  breakin'  mony  hearts,  Robin,  to  hear  you  speak 
sae,  and  Jean's,  believe  me,  be  among  them. 


8  ROBERT  BURNS 

ROBIN  (furiously):  That  acknowledgment,  as  a  most  pre- 
cious document,  at  a'  hazards  she  should  hae  preserved 
intact.  And  now  they  hae  gat  a  warrant  to  throw  me  into 
jail,  till  I  find  security,  for  a  great  sum,  against  the  unborn. 
They  thought  to  keep  it  a  close  secret;  but  I  gat  it  by  a 
channel  they  little  wot  of,  and,  pursued  by  them,  I  am  lying 
in  ambush  frae  one's  friend's  name  to  anither,  and,  like 
a  true  son  of  the  Gospel,  hae  na  whare  to  lay  my  head. 
Let  them  spare  the  poor,  ill-advised  girl;  but  may  a'  the 
furies  that  rend  the  injured  lover's  bosom,  vex,  till  the 
latest  hour,  those  wha  controlled  and  misguided  her.  I 
am  in  a  rage,  Davie,  reflecting  on  my  miserable  situation 
—  exiled,  abandoned,  forlorn ! 

BRICE:  Eleventh  hour,  Robin,  hasna  struck. 

ROBIN:  Davie,  Davie,  for  me  nae  turn,  nae  balm  in  Gilead. 
I  am  miserable  beyond  compare,  and  Jean  Armour's  at 
the  bottom.  I  am  absolutely  crazed,  the  luckless  victim 
of  mad  tornadoes  that  blow  me  into  chaos.  Almighty 
love  still  reigns  and  revels  in  my  bosom,  that  witchin' charm 
which  can  the  strongest  quell,  the  sternest  move.  This 
lassie  I  adored,  and  without  her  still  feel  in  my  heart  a 
miserable  void.  Shouldna  I  know  how  charming  she  is, 
though  a*  Scotland  were  blind?  Am  I  to  be  told  by  ony 
man,  or  ony  nation  upon  earth,  what  beauty  and  sweet- 
ness are?  Is  she  na  the  fairest  whare  thousands  are  fair? 
Wha  sings  my  sangs  wi'  such  taste  and  feeling?  Whare 
such  a  voice  —  the  song  of  the  morning?  Disna  the 
sun  tak  delight  to  shine  for  her  sake?  Wad  to  God  my 
tongue  were  a  beam  of  the  sun,  to  speak  her  —  her, 
Davie,  wha  is  entwined  wi'  the  thread  of  my  life! 
(Intense  emotional  demonstration.) 
(Pause.) 

ROBIN:  Since  this  affair,  Davie,  even  in  the  hour  of  social 
mirth  my  gaiety  has  been  the  madness  of  an  intoxicated 


ROBERT  BURNS  9 

criminal  under  the  hand  of  the  executioner.   Never  more, 
never,  NEVER  shall  I  hae  such  an  armful  of  joy. 
BRICE  :  My  magic  whistle,  Robin,  will  see  to  that. 

(Brice  blows  a  keen  whistle.  Barn-door  swings  open.  The 
winsome  Jean  confronts  Robin.  With  cries  and  tears  they 
rush  into  each  other's  arms  —  Manifestations  of  intense 
feeling  throughout.) 

JEAN:  Oh!  Robin,  Robin,  Robin,  about  that  acknowledg- 
ment, sair  did  I  weep,  and  — 
ROBIN  (interrupting) :  Davie  has  been  eloquent,  Jean.    The 

heavens  open,  my  dear  girl,  and  the  glorious  light  scatters 

a'  the  darkness  of  the  past. 
JEAN  (in  tears  of  joy) :  O  Robin,  Robin ! 
ROBIN:  Awa',  awa',  wi'  hint  of  tears  in  a'  this  depth  and 

tumult  of  joy. 

JEAN:  O  Robin,  they  be  tears  of  joy. 
ROBIN:  Then  my  lips  must  dry  the  trail  upon  the  cheek  and 

be  partaker  (pressing  Jean  to  his  breast  and  kissing  her). 
JEAN:  And  you  must  gie  me,  Robin,  anither  acknowledgment. 
ROBIN:  On  the  spot,  my  ain  duplicate  (disengaging  himself 

and  handing  Jean  the  document). 
JEAN:  Oh!  Robin,  Robin,  they  curb  me  sair  and  hold  me 

down,  but  I'll  teach  them  a*  rattling  sang.   Hearest  thou, 

Robin,  here's  my  hand  (extending  hand  which  Robin  grasps) 

—  I'm  thine  by  a'  this  paper  reads. 
ROBIN:  Heaven  hears  that  vow,  and,  since  you're  na  sae 

swift  to  seal  it,  I'll  seal  it  mysel'.    (Embrace  and  shower  of 

kisses.) 

JEAN:  Oh  Robin!  but  must  you  gang  awa'? 
ROBIN:  The  fates,  it  seems,  sae  order,  and  what  ties,  what 

ties  broken! 
JEAN:  Na  broken,  Robin  —  but  stretched  and  tried.   You'll 

be  back,  Robin,  whan  it's  a'  blawn  over,  and  gat  richer. 


10  ROBERT  BURNS 

ROBIN:  Gat  richer! 

JEAN:  Yes,  Robin,  dinna  ye  mean  that? 

ROBIN  :  In  part  —  ay,  ay. 

JEAN:  And  isna  the  Indies  a  fortune  makin'  country? 

ROBIN:  Sae  reported. 

JEAN:  And  fortunes  made  there? 

ROBIN:  Sae  reported. 

JEAN:  And  winna  Robin  make  his? 

ROBIN:  Enough  may  be,  to  the  fair  to  hie,  a  bunch  of  blue 
ribbon  to  buy,  to  tie  up  my  love's  bonny  brown  hair. 

JEAN:  And  riches  truly  that  will  be,  Robin,  for  a  token  to  no 
be  forgotten. 

ROBIN:  What  more  in  his  pouch  Robin  canna  say;  for  the 
gift  no  be  his  to  gather  or  to  garner  gear.  Onyhow,  my 
dear,  dinna  lese  ye  on  gold.  It  rises  frae  the  hard,  hard 
rock,  and  sae  often  finds  a  cruel  bed,  falling  on  the  human 
heart,  to  break  it. 

JEAN:  Certes,  Robin,  witnesses  a-plenty. 

ROBIN:  Gold!  What  care  I?   Jean  is  my  ain,  and,  Fortune, 
what  more  canst  thou  gie  me?   Kings  and  nations  avaunt, 
awa',  awa' !  Trifles,  I  refuse  ye,  wi'  Jeanie  in  my  arms ! 
(Embraces  Jean.) 

JEAN:  Heaven  be  praised  for  Robin,  a  lover  and  a  lad  com- 
plete. Na,  na,  Robin.  What's  a'  the  joys  that  gold  can 
gie?  I  carena  gear  a  single  flea.  The  lad  I  love  is  the  lad 
for  me. 

ROBIN:  A  country  lad  is  his  degree,  but  prouder  than  belted 
knight  is  he.   Wi'  Jean  his  ain  he'll  no  envy  the  folks  wha 
dwell  aboon  the  sky. 
(Embraces  Jean.) 

JEAN:  Just  ae  inch  of  time  I  hae, Robin, afore  the  bailiff-man, 
to  say  fareweel.  You'll  no  forget  me,  Robin,  in  the  far 
Indies?  The  Powers  above  know  sae  weel  the  vows  hae 
passed  atween  us  twa. 


ROBERT  BURNS  11 

ROBIN:  Forget  thee!  Na,  na!  The  dear  idea  refuses  to  be 
forgotten.  Doesna  the  keen,  tender  ee  declare  the 
faithful  lover?  I  ask  for  dearest  life  alone,  that  I  may  live 
to  love  thee.  Forget  thee !  Let  the  sun,  then,  first  forget 
his  course.  Let  the  monarch,  then,  first  forget  the  crown, 
that  on  his  head  an  hour  has  been.  Till  clay-cold  death 
shall  blind  my  ee,  thou  shalt  be  my  dearie.  Heaven  hears 
the  vow.  On  these  lips  I  seal  it,  and  break  it  shall  I  never. 
(Embraces  Jean.) 

ROBIN:  But  can  Robin  forget,  that  distance  has  its  dangers? 
Will  Jean  forget  Robin? 

JEAN:  Forget  Robin!  All  the  lee  lang  day  I  couldna  sing,  I 
couldna  say,  how  much,  how  dear  I  love  Robin.  Forget 
Robin !  Hey  Robin !  the  tear  of  joy  comes  to  my  ee,  that 
the  dearest  lad  has  said  he  loves  me.  Forget  Robin !  Oh 
Robin!  the  tear  of  fear  comes  to  my  ee,  whan  I  think 
on  him  wha's  to  be  sae  far  awa'.  Forget  Robin!  O!  I'll 
think  of  him  that's  far  away,  and  the  lee-lang  day  I'll 
weep  and  pray  for  Robin  back. 

ROBIN  :  Those  prospect  tears  cry  out  for  advance  returns. 
(Embraces  Jean.) 

JEAN:  O  Robin!  I'll  storm  heaven.  O  Robin!  I'll  weep  and 
pray,  and  night  and  day  in  a'  my  dear  petitions  place  his 
weal  that's  far  away. 

ROBIN:  And  for  rich  returns  whacan  doubt,  whan  this  dear 
girl  has  grace  enough  to  stock  twa  three  preachers? 

JEAN:  O  Robin!  nightly  dreams  and  thoughts  by  day  will 
be  wi'  him  that's  far  away.   Tender  spirits  round  my 
pillow  will  whisper  the  dear  lad  that's  far  away. 
(Robin  embraces  Jean.) 

JEAN:  But,  Robin,  is  it  that  you  really  are  to  be  sae  far  away? 
It  may  na  be;  but,  whare  e'er  you  be,  what  e'er  betides, 
Robin's  to  be  a  credit  to  us  a'  —  we'll  a*  be  proud  of 
Robin. 


12  ROBERT  BURNS 

ROBIN:  Possibly  my  poetry  may  outlive  my  poverty  and  ob- 
scurity, and  Robin  na  be  forgotten  a  hindred  years  hence. 

JEAN:  And  today,  today,  Robin  is  to  be  somebody.  You 
know,  Robin,  my  veins  run  Highland  blood,  whare  Sec- 
ond Sight  has  a  hame,  and  your  grand  day,  Robin,  is 
coming.  Whan,  I  canna  say.  Whare,  I  canna  say  —  but 
somewhare;  for  hae  I  na  seen  it?  Yestreen  on  Robin 
I  was  dwelling,  and  suddenly,  as  by  some  hand  na  seen 
and  which  I  couldna  control,  my  eyelids  were  sae  strange- 
ly raised,  to  see  afar,  and,  staring  out,  I  saw  in  such  light 
and  magnificence  a  grand  company  of  nobles  and  ladies 
gay,  and  you,  Robin,  the  star  amang  them  a',  and  mysel', 
Robin,  by  your  side  in  sang.  Can  a'  this,  Robin,  be  in  far 
away  Indies? 

ROBIN:  Ha!  A  heavenly  vision!  O  glorious  prophecy! 
Aweel,  some  clouds  hae  silver  linings,  and  a  loving  brush 
has  painted  mine.  The  glory,  sure,  will  be  twa  times  more 
wi'  the  prophetess  partaking.  You  raise  me  to  the  skies, 
dear  girl.  Now,  wha  be  this  imp  frae  below,  'gainst  whom 
your  guided  step  comes  hither  to  gie  me  warning? 

JEAN:  Peacock  is  his  name  and  stranger  amang  us  —  a  wee 
scholar-man  wha  has  seen  better  days,  wi'  short  body, 
lang  tongue,  one  sharp  ee,  keen  sense,  and  head  fu'  of 
queer  knowledge.  Follows  antiquarian  trade  —  sae  they 
call  it. 

(Enter  rustic  in  tumult  of  excitement,  arms  up  and  exclaim- 
ing) : 

RUSTIC:  A  wee  man  wi'  one  ee  be  just  up  at  the  cot-house, 
and  wow!  they  hurry  me  down  here  a-runnin'. 

BRICE:  The  bailiff!  And  the  Peacock  canna  forget  the  barn 
—  old  acquaintances. 

ROBIN  (starting  in  haste  to  get  away  and  embracing  Jean): 
Fareweel,  fareweel,  my  dearie.  Whare  e'er  I  be  your  dear 
idea  shall  mingle  wi'  every  throb  of  my  heart. 


ROBERT  BURNS  13 

JEAN:  But  oh!  Robin,  the  bailiff,  sae  I  hear,  has  a  cruel 
hound,  to  track  you. 

ROBIN  (reflecting  a  moment  —  then,  resolutely) :  I'll  meet  the 
unco  loon.  Whare  I  shall  shelter  against  them  I  canna 
say.  But  shall  I  no  weather  the  storm?  Ay,  ay,  I  shalll 
I'll  be  ship  a-hull,  wi'  sails  furled,  helm  lashed  on  lee  side, 
and  protected.  This  wot  ye  a'  whom  it  concerns:  I, 
Rhymer  Robin,  alias  Burns,  upon  that  proposition  kiss 
the  book.  Perish  the  drop  of  blood  of  mine  that  fears 
them.  I'll  laugh  and  sing  and  shake  my  leg  (nervous 
gaiety}.  Here,  Jean,  our  longitudes  and  latitudes  are 
close  akin,  and  necessity  knows  nae  law  save  its  am. 
Don  me  wi'  headgear,  waist  and  skirt. 
(In  a  jiffy  Jean's  things  are  off,  and  on  upon  Robin.) 

BRICE  (surveying  Robin  and  laughing):  Na  sae  bad  in  wo- 
man's toggery. 

ROBIN:  Let  it  inspire  me  wi'  a  woman's  tongue. 

BRICE:  Be  a  lover  jilted  by  the  Bard.  Weep  —  wring 
hands  —  raise  eyes  —  speak  daggers  —  offer  for  the  hunt 
—  ony  thing,  ony  thing,  to  get  him  aff . 

ROBIN:  Nannie  Brice   is   up   to   snuff.    (Listening)   There! 
Footfalls!    (To  Brice)  The  lantern!   You  and  Jean,  aback 
the  door,  can  hear  Nannie  acquit  hersel'. 
(Exeunt  Jean  and  Brice  to  barn.) 
(Enter  Peacock  with  lantern.) 

ROBIN  (Affrighted  —  out-cry):  Ha!  Wha  be  ye? 

PEACOCK  (lively  —  pert):  Nae  robber,  nae  robber.  Be  no 
affrighted.  And  wha  be  ye?  How  shall  I  name  ye?  Be 
it  lass,  or  be  it  dame  ye? 

ROBIN:  Wha  be  ye  —  at  such  a  place,  and  such  an  hour? 

PEACOCK:  Bailiff-man,  law-and-order  man,  protection  man, 
nae  robber  man,  and  on  a  hunt. 

ROBIN:  Good  Lord!  At  the  bam?  For  what?  To  find  a 
goat  for  sin  offering? 


14  ROBERT  BURNS 

PEACOCK:  Na,  na,  na  —  to  find  a  man,  nae  goat;  but  this 
lucky  dog  finds  a  petticoat,  wha  wad  prove,  I  opine,  one 
offering  sae  fine  at  beauty's  court,  I  dinna  doubt. 

ROBIN:  Let  bailiff -man  beware,  and  wi'  a  serious  proposition 
grapple.  She  might  prove  anither  Eve,  to  gie  ye  an  apple. 

PEACOCK:  It  be,  then,  for  my  ainsel'  to  be  affrighted. 

ROBIN:  Betak',  then,  thine  ainsel'  awa'. 

PEACOCK:  Na,  na,  na  sae  soon.  The  quarry's  caught  (point- 
ing to  loft),  and  hunter  may  dally.  —  And  as  for  anither 
apple-Eve,  egad!  he  might  na  bite. 

ROBIN:  Wiser  in  this  old  sun-set  generation,  than  Father 
Adam  at  sun-rise  creation. 

PEACOCK:  Ay,  ay! 

ROBIN:  If  law-man,  whare  thy  badge  of  authority? 

PEACOCK:  Here,  here  (pointing  to  badge  and  lifting  lantern  to 
it.)  —  And  my  name  is  Peacock,  Johnnie  Peacock,  easy 
for  the  goddess  of  the  barn  to  remember. 

ROBIN:  Goddess  of  the  barn-yard,  sir,  to  speak  to  the  point 
more  completely,  whare  peacocks,  wi'  her  cattle,  roost, 
and  sing  sae  sweetly. 

PEACOCK:  Sing  sae  sweetly!  Ha,  ha,  ha!  —  And  how  name 
ye?  Be  it  lass,  or  be  it  dame  ye?  To  tak'  a  lovely  look 
will  ye  blame  me?  Certes,  it  canna  shame  ye. 
(To  scrutinize,  Peacock  raises  lantern  near  Robin's  face. 
Robin,  as  if  himself  in  the  game  for  scrutiny,  raises  his 
lantern  near  Peacock's  face,  and  obstructs  purposely  Pea- 
cock's look,  fearing  discovery.  They  continue  manoeuvring 
lanterns  at  hide  and  seek — anon  desist,  when  Robin  speaks) : 

ROBIN:  I  be  one  Bo-Peep,  and  I  see  a  sheep. 

PEACOCK:  Ha,  ha,  ha!   I  too,  be  Bo-Peep,  and  I  no  see  a 
sheep  —  na,  na,  na,  but  a  sweet  lassie,  O ;  for  there  in  the 
hair  of  my  lady  fair,  for  my  ain  answer  good,  I  no  see  the 
dame  coif,  but  the  lassie's  snood. 
(Pause.) 


ROBERT  BURNS  15 

ROBIN:  Why  after  a  man? 

PEACOCK:  To  serve  a  parish  warrant  and  catch  him,  if  I  can. 

ROBIN:  How  runs  the  warrant? 

PEACOCK:  Cash,  or  jail. 

ROBIN:  What  man? 

PEACOCK:  Burns. 

ROBIN  (visibly  startled):  Burns!  —  Burns!  —  What  Burns? 
—  This  Rob  the  Rhymer? 

PEACOCK:  The  verra'  man.  Ye  must  wot  of  him,  wha  sae 
stirs  a'  the  country-side. 

ROBIN  (suppressed  fury) :  Nannie  Brice  na  wot  of  this  rantin', 
rovin',  versifyin'  Robin,  and  vile  deceiver?   Oh!  bitter, 
bitter  be  the  tear  of  her  wha  slighted  love  bewails.    (Dem- 
onstration, head  bowed,  handkerchief  busy.) 
(Pause.) 

PEACOCK:  Might  be  here  —  eh? 

ROBIN  :  Och !  —  Brice's  roof,  even  barn-roof,  screening  that 
coof? 

PEACOCK:  Ah!  might  na  the  rascal  steal  a  bed? 

ROBIN:  And  dare  the  risk  of  a  jilted  woman's  tongue,  and  a 
brither's  fighting  ee? 

PEACOCK:  "  Coof  "  and  "  tear,"  my  lassie  dear,  canna  throw 
me  aff.  A  sure  tip  I  hae  to  law  the  Rhymer  hi  Brice's  barn 
this  night. 

ROBIN:  What  "  Brice's  barn,"  Davie's  here,  or  his  brither 
Willie's,  a  Sabbath  day's  journey  awa'? 

PEACOCK:  I  be  just  frae  Willie's,  as  ye  name  him,  and  Rob  the 
Rhymer  I'll  wage  a  shiner  is  there  (.pointing  to  barn-loft) , 
wi'  you,  anither  Nicodemus,  serving  him  at  such  an  hour. 

ROBIN:  Ye're  a'  aff  the  scent.  A  yearlin'  bullock  and  a 
lambkin,  crony  cattle  and  ailin'  for  a  dressing,  tak'  this 
hour.  Just  as  hae  the  wicked,  this  coof  amang  them, 
too,  has  friends,  wha  wadna  stick  a  deceivin'  tip  to  sell.  If 
ye  doubt,  there's  the  ladder,  wi'  hay-loft  at  your  service. 
(Pause.) 


16  ROBERT  BURNS 

ROBIN:  What  has  skellum  Robin  been  up  to? 

PEACOCK:  A  father  hi  prospect  under  the  bar  sinister. 

ROBIN:  Somewhat  of  that  I've  heard. 

PEACOCK:  And  the  parish  guardians  exact  ten  pounds  for 

year's  support  of  the  expectation. 
ROBIN:  Of  that,  too,  somewhat  have  I  heard. 
PEACOCK:  This  ready  money  must  be  on  the  nail,  or,  by  my 

warrant  served,  the  jail,  ere  to  Jamaica  he  slips  to  sail. 
ROBIN:  Somewhat  of  it  a'  I've  heard,  and  if  he  has  wronged 

the  sweetest,  dearest  lassie  in  a'  the  round  world,  I'm  wi' 

you,  bailiff-man,  in  the  hunt,  whip  and  spur.   Vile  sinner, 

wicked  one,  hale  him,  wale  him,  jail  him,  thou  bailiff-man 

(violently).   Lord,  pardon  a'  my  sins,  and  this  too  (aside). 

(Pause.) 

ROBIN:  Canna  Rhymer  Robin  pay? 
PEACOCK:  Cashless,  cashless  coof  they  say,  and  he  winna  slip 

by  a  golden  key. 

ROBIN:  Nae  friends  wi'  whom  his  pieces  count,  to  help? 
PEACOCK  :  Proud,    proud,    Johnnie    Peacock    hears  —  over 

proud  to  snool  or  ask. 
ROBIN:  Can  run  him  down? 
PEACOCK:  Close  on  his  tracks  has  been  Johnnie;  but  Johnnie 

needs  a  helper,  the  coof,  to  hide,  has  Jacks-at-a-pinch  sae 

mony.   Whan  I  land,  a  full  fat  fee  comes  in,  a  special, 

over  and  above  the  legal,  and  my  helper  wad  come  in 

halves. 
ROBIN:  Generous!  Fair    helper's    bait!  The    penny's    the 

jewel  that  beautifies  a'. 
PEACOCK:  Of  his  class  a'  I  meet  seem  his  friends.   Wi'  such 

a  wrong  as  ye  hae,  and  such  a  spirit,  were  ye  a  man, 

Johnnie  might  ask  ye  to  gie  a  han'. 

(Pause.) 

ROBIN:  Whence  this  special  fee? 
PEACOCK:  The  Old  Light  Pastors. 


ROBERT  BURNS  17 

ROBIN:  And  wha  be  the  Old  Light  Pastors? 

PEACOCK  (declamatory) :  Lord,  Lassie,  dinna  ye  know?  Hae 
the  crony  cattle  sae  taken  ye,  that  ye  dinna  know,  that 
the  hold  of  Calvinism  in  a'  this  west  of  Scotland  be  dis- 
puted by  Arminianism  —  that  the  kirk,  frae  tap  to  toe, 
be  split  wide  open  into  twa  bitter  fighting  factions,  Old 
Light  high  Calvilist  here,  New  Light  low  Calvin  half 
Arminian  there,  and  a'  the  country-side  be  going  wild 
over  the  holy  tussle? 

ROBIN:  And  dinna  Johnnie  Peacock  know,  that  lassies  be 
less  at  hame  in  such  heavenly  jars?  Sae,  let  Johnnie's 
pulpit  preach  on,  to  tell  what  it  be  a'  about. 

PEACOCK:  Fudge!  dry  bundles  of  opinions  metaphysic, 
Johnnie  Peacock  taks  it.  Wi'  zeal  for  orthodoxy  fired,  and 
in  the  depths  of  logic  mired,  these  Pastors  be. 

ROBIN:  Bravo!  Dry  —  but  frae  what  you  say  wad  seem  to 
get  the  blood. 

PEACOCK:  Lord's  cause  ne'er  gat  such  a  twistle.  Names  like 
"  hypocrite,"  "  traitor,"  "  rascal,"  "  villain,"  each  ither 
gie,  and  nither  be  lying.  Wi'  five  points,  each,  they 
charge  upon  each  ither  like  mad. 

ROBIN:  Five  points!  Jee!  Ye  canna  mean  these  messengers 
for  God  clash  wi'  dirks,  five  to  the  man? 

PEACOCK:  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Five  points!  five  dirks!  Ha,  ha,  ha! 
Five  points  be  ways  of  thinkin'  spun  by  logic  frae  the 
work  of  grace  divine  upon  the  mind  —  as  Johnnie  taks  it, 
becloudin'  the  real  Gospel  Light,  argumentum  makin' 
decrees  for  God,  wha,  in  such  might  and  majesty,  be  un- 
speakable, incomprehensible,  sae  far  awa',  and  sae  un- 
known. 

ROBIN:  Bravo,  bravo!  And  how  goes  the  battle? 

PEACOCK:  Betwixt  the  fightings  saxpence  ither  way  it  be. 
The  value  runs  'twixt  tweedledum  and  tweedledee. 

ROBIN:  Bravissimo!   If  Johnnie  Peacock  has  lost  an  ee,  he 


18  ROBERT  BURNS 

hasna  lost  his  sense,  and  that  of  high  degree.  Lord  be 
near  thee.  Your  hand  (shake  hands) .  —  But  what  has 
this  skellum  Robin  to  do  wi'  it  a'? 

PEACOCK:  A  deal,  a  deal,  my  lassie  fair.  He  has  jumped 
plump  into  the  fight,  and  be  Hannibal  headin'  the  New 
Light. 

ROBIN:  This  skellum,  then,  can  be  a  fighter,  if  nae  more. 

PEACOCK:  Ay,  ay,  a  captain  —  in  his  line  a  son  of  Anak  — 
ithers  as  grass-hoppers. 

ROBIN:  How  mony  points  brings  the  skellum  to  the  battle? 

PEACOCK:  But  one  —  yet  sae  keen,  and  stings  sae  sair. 

ROBIN:  What,  prithee? 

PEACOCK:  Ridicule,  ridicule  —  such  power  in  a  chield  wha 
knows  how.  Hae  ye  na  seen  his  "  Kirk's  Alarm,"  like  an- 
ither  Samson  smitin'  the  Old  Light  Pastors  hip  and  thigh? 

ROBIN  (as  if  recalling) :  Seems  I  hae  heard  somewhat  of  that 
fashion. 

PEACOCK:  Lord!  hae  ye  been  living  above  ground  na  to 
know  a'  about  this  stir?  Why,  a'  the  district  has  both 
heard  and  seen  it,  and,  what's  more,  be  splittin'  sides 
a-laughing.  Hae  the  dressings  of  the  crony  cattle  gat  a' 
your  een  and  thinkings  —  or  are  ye  sae  devoted  to  that 
lambkin,  that  ye  hae  nae  thought  awa'? 

ROBIN:  She's  a  bewitchin'  creature.  That  much,  wi'  a'  my 
heart,  I  know.  What  besides  I  dinna  know  myseF, 
Johnnie  Peacock  may  tell. 

PEACOCK:  'Twas  risky,  risky,  this  "  Kirk's  Alarm,"  fired  at 
the  Old  Light  Pastors,  social  leaders,  heads  of  congrega- 
tions wide,  and  at  the  verra'  hour  in  mad  wrangle  wi'  the 
new  Lights. 

ROBIN:  Risky,  nae  doubt. 

PEACOCK  :  Ay,  ay !  For  a  plain  plowman  to  print  such  quality 
in  irreverent  drollish  names  —  as  "  Daddy  Auld," 
"  Rumble  John,"  and  ithers  of  that  powerful  Old  Light 


ROBERT  BURNS  19 

clique  wha  swing  the  Gospel  Club  —  and  at  their  persons 
and  at  their  points  let  fly  such  biting  wipes,  was  risky,  I 
tak  it. 

ROBIN:  Why  wasna  the  skellum  smashed? 

PEACOCK  :  Under  cover  copies  gat  out,  and  presently  wi'  such 
roars  of  glee,  that  the  skellum  was  fain  to  slip  the  mask. 
Old  Lights,  on  the  spot,  gat  wind  of  it  and  trouble;  and 
now,  wi'  it  a',  the  Kilmarnock  edition  be  just  out;  and  in 
it,  too,  this  "  Holy  Willie's  Prayer,"  and  Old  Lights  be 
in  such  roars  of  rage,  and  castin'  about  how  to  stap  the 
skellum's  quill,  if  na  stap  his  breath. 

ROBIN:  Ha!   "  Holy  Willie!"   What  saint  be  this,  liftin'  his 
haloed  head  amang  the  sinners? 

PEACOCK:  One  William  Fisher,  Ruling  Elder  of  this  "  Daddy 
Auld's  "  Mauchline  Kirk. 

ROBIN:  Old  Light? 

PEACOCK:  Ay,  ay. 

ROBIN:  And  New  Light  Hannibal  a-celebratin'  his  saintship? 

PEACOCK:  Ay,  ay  —  but  in  a  figure.   See  this  rap  at  the  five 
points  in  "  Holy  Willie's  Prayer  ": 

O  Thou  wha  in  the  heavens  dost  dwell, 
Wha,  as  it  pleases  best  ThyseF, 
Sends  one  to  heaven  and  ten  to  hell, 

A'  for  Thy  glory, 
And  no  for  ony  good  or  ill 

They've  done  afore  thee ! 

PEACOCK:  What  think  ye  of  that? 

ROBIN:  Nae  poisoned,  stinking  Arminian  smell. 

PEACOCK:  Ay,  ay. 

ROBIN  :  Sae  clear  and  sweet  frae  Calvin's  well. 

PEACOCK:  Ay,  ay.  —  And  this  slap,  too,  at  "  Holy  Willie  " 

himseF.   Allow  it,  Lassie?   'Tis  rough. 
ROBIN:  One  ear  I'll  lend,  and  may  be  but  half  of  that. 


20  ROBERT  BURNS 

PEACOCK:  Then,  wi'  your  leave: 

O  Lord  yestreen,  thou  kens  wi'  Meg  — 

Thy  pardon  I  sincerely  beg, 

Oh !  may  it  ne'er  be  a  livin'  plague 

To  my  dishonor, 
And  I'll  ne'er  lift  a  lawless  leg 

Again  upon  her. 

May  be  Thou  lets  this  fleshly  thorn 

Beset  Thy  servant  e'en  and  morn, 

Lest  he  owre  high  and  proud  should  turn, 

'Cause  he's  sae  gifted; 
If  sae,  Thy  hand  must  e'er  be  borne, 

Until  Thou  lift  it. 

PEACOCK:  Weel  —  what  thinkest  thou  of  that,  for  a  Ruling 
Elder  of  the  Kirk? 

ROBEN  (pausing) :  What  does  Johnnie  Peacock  think  of  it? 

PEACOCK:  What  does  Johnnie  Peacock  think  of  it?  Why, 
Johnnie  Peacock  thinks  it  the  most  terrible  skit  that  ever 
was  writ.  —  Aweel  —  the  slap  be  no  amiss,  as  reports 
gae,  that  Holy  Willie  at  times  be  sair  troubled  wi'  fleshly 
lusts,  and  vile  self  gets  in. 
(Pause.) 

ROBIN:  And  where  gets  in  that  special  fat  fee,  to  go  halves 
wi'  the  helper? 

PEACOCK:  Just  here:  "  The  Kirk's  Alarm,"  and  "  Holy 
Willie's  Prayer  "  on  tap,  like  unto  some  wonderment 
drapt  frae  the  skies,  has  startled  the  Old  Lights  wi' 
amazement  and  a  tribulation.  What  next?  they  cry. 
Sae  they  fee  me  weel  to  pack  aff  this  terrible  Robin  the 
Rhymer. 

ROBIN:  And  how,  pray? 


ROBERT  BURNS  21 

PEACOCK:  Help  his  flight,  some  cry,  to  tak  the  Nancy  for 
West  Indies.  Na,  na,  be  the  louder  cry.  He'll  yet  be 
livin'  to  fire  anither  "  Kirk's  Alarm,"  or  "  Holy  Willie." 

ROBIN:  Yet  livin'!  Merciful  Heavens!  Wad  stap  Robin's 
breath? 

PEACOCK:  What  nicer  turn  for  these  Old  Light  fighting  cocks, 
than  despatchin'  a  lusty  devil?   Yet  nae  blood  spillin'. 
Enough  to  serve  the  warrant. 
(Pause.) 

PEACOCK:  Hae  ye  been  wi'  Robin? 

ROBIN:  Hae  ye  forgat  that  Robin  wad  na  dare  a  jilted  wo- 
man's ee? 

PEACOCK:  Ye  know  Robin,  then? 

ROBIN:  Ay!  As  my  ain  seP. 

PEACOCK:  Ye  know,  then,  a  chield  of  misfortune.  Nae  cash 
to  satisfy  the  parish  guardians,  the  warrant  means  jail  — 
and  jail  means  death  to  such  melancholy  and  excessive 
sensibility,  they  tell  me. 

ROBIN:  But  ye  haena  served  the  warrant  yet.  What  of  the 
Nancy  for  the  slip  'twixt  cup  and  the  lip? 

PEACOCK:  We  hae  sure  word  the  Nancy  winna  be  cleared  to 
sail  this  sen'night.  Meanwhile,  the  law  will  hae  gat 
Robin,  unless  he  staps  his  breath  wi'  his  ain  hand. 

ROBIN:  His  ain  hand!   Tut,  tut!  Wha  says  that? 

PEACOCK:  He  be  sae  intense  melancholic,  and  despairin'  by 
a'  accounts. 

ROBIN:  That  doesna  square  wi'  what  I  be  told,  that  Robin, 
more  than  ithers,  is  a  bright  laddie. 

PEACOCK:  What  ye  be  told.  To  my  set'  what  be  the  accounts, 
but  that  toil,  toil,  exceedin'  toil — dreary  strugglin' — bad 
luck  —  nae  cash  —  despairin'  poverty  —  hae  settled  upon 
his  countenance  deep  melancholy? 

ROBIN:  How  is  it,  then,  he  plays  his  cards  sae  weel  wi'  the 
lassies? 


22  ROBERT  BURNS 

PEACOCK:  Ah!  true,  true,  they  speak  of  a  change,  that,  wi' 
those  of  interest  to  him,  he  be  transfigured,  like  unto  One 
we  wot  of,  that  his  face  shines  as  by  a  beam  of  the  sun,  his 
een  be  a'  aglow,  and  his  tongue  a  marvel. 
(Pause.) 

PEACOCK:  Sae  he  bloomed,  nae  doubt,  whan  he  took  this 
Lassie's  ee. 
(Pause  —  Nannie  with  head  bowed  and  handkerchief  busy.) 

ROBIN  (raising  head):  By  these  salt,  salt  tears,  that  drap 
down  by  my  nose,  Johnnie  Peacock's  kind  heart  will  please 
drap  the  Lassie's  woes. 
(Pause.) 

PEACOCK:  Let  me  gie  news:  That  orthodoxy  yet  may  prance, 
tomorrow  eve  will  see  an  Old  Light  meeting,  to  think  upon 
extra  steps  against  this  rabid  Robin  —  at  Rev.  William 
Auld's  (this  Daddy  Auld's),  the  Old  Light  district  Pastors 
attending  —  Miller,  McKinley,  Peebles,  Mitchell,  Rus- 
sell and  ithers. 

ROBIN:  Wad  to  God  I  could  attend,  too.  Certes,  I  wadna 
be  dumb. 

PEACOCK:  Jee!  'twill  be  a  thriller.  They  be  ready  to  tear 
Robin  limb  frae  limb,  as  the  devil's  own. 

ROBIN:  Blythe  be  the  bird  that  sings  upon  their  graves. 

PEACOCK:  And  suspected  turncoats,  too,  I  hear,  will  be  called 
to  account,  those  Old  Lights,  wha,  while  cussin'  Robin's 
blasts,  hail  his  genius. 

ROBIN:  Wad  that  I  could  be  there! 

PEACOCK:  Scotch  pride,  you  see,  slips  into  Old  Light  loyalty. 

ROBIN:  Wad  to  God  some  way  wad  open  to  be  amang 
them! 

PEACOCK:  Pastor  Peebles  be  one  of  the  suspects.  Betwixt 
him  and  furious  Pastor  Russell  fisticuffs,  I  hear,  scarcely 
hae  been  prevented,  sae  tremendous  the  excitement,  and 
a  clash  be  no  unlikely  at  the  meeting.  Johnnie  Peacock 


ROBERT  BURNS  23 

must  be  there,  to  report  upon  the  hunt,  and  Johnnie's  in 

trouble. 
ROBIN:  O  dear!  what  unblest  side,  is  it,  of  man's  revolvin' 

mony-sided  lot,  turns  up  now  for  Johnnie? 
PEACOCK:  Johnnie,  wha  needs  cash,  may  be  fired  frae  the 

Old  Light  job.   Wad  ye  know,  at  bottom,  why  a  helper 

Johnnie  needs? 

ROBIN:  A  willin'  ear  be  Johnnie's,  if  na  a  helpin'. 
PEACOCK:  Weel,  to  the  tale:  Amang  a'  those  of  Robin's  run 

wi'  whom  it  may  be  thought  he  be  kept  in  hidin',  Johnnie 

finds  only   Robin's  friends.    Robin  has  nae  faults,  it 

seems,  or,  if  ony,  they  a'  in  Latin  lie  —  nane  in  Scotch  or 

English.   Some  be  enemies  in  a  blind,  to  pat  me  aff  his 

track.   To  Brice's  barn  surely  I  was  tipped  for  Robin 

hidin',  in  his  place  to  find  a  lassie  bloomin'.    But  one  tip 

yet  I  hae  and  tak  for  Gospel. 
ROBIN:  Prithee,  tell  me. 
PEACOCK:  That  the  skellum,  leaving  for  Greenock,  will  be  at 

hame  this  night  next,  to  mither  and  a'  to  say  fareweel,  and 

there,  to  execute  the  warrant,  Johnnie  will  be. 
ROBIN:  And  might  execute  upon  a  dead  body. 
PEACOCK    (excited):  Wow!  What    mean    ye?   Dead    body! 

Lord  deliver  Johnnie  frae  being  wi'  ony  dead  body. 
ROBIN:  Nae  pleasing  companionship,  certes,  but  why  the 

break? 
PEACOCK:  How,  na  lang-syne,  the  circumstances  of  a  dead 

body  gave  Johnnie  such  fright  and  faint,  I  needna  tell. 

In  heart's  deep  hangs  a  fearsome  memory,  and  I  be 

warned  against  ony  dead-room,  as  begettin'  a  Falling 

Sickness. 

(Pause  —  Robin  reflecting.) 
ROBIN:  Aweel  —  better  tak  care.   If  the  skellum  be  at  hame, 

may  be  'twad  be  his  body  only,  his  soul  in  flight  amang  the 

stars. 


24  ROBERT  BURNS 

PEACOCK:  Isna  he  called  stalwart? 

ROBIN:  But  hae  ye  na  been  told,  as  ye  yoursel'  but  just  now 
said,  that  he  be  sae  intense  melancholic  —  that  exceedin* 
toil,  bad  luck,  despairin'  poverty,  and  a',  hae  deeply 
touched  him?  Sae  full  of  warm  Scots  blood,  mightna  this 
hour  of  adieu  to  Scotland,  and  fareweel  hand  and  lip  to 
mither  and  a', be  too  much  for  life's  brittle  thread,  already 
strained? 
(Pause.) 

PEACOCK:  Aweel!    God  man  his  soul  to  bear.    It  be  my 
last  warrant  chance.   I  need  the  cash.   I'll  tak  the  risk, 
which,  wi'  a'  ye  say,  I  canna  but  count  small. 
(Pause.) 

ROBIN:  Johnnie's  tale  is  yet  to  hae  an  end. 

PEACOCK:  What  now? 

ROBIN:  Why  a  helper  Johnnie  needs. 

PEACOCK:  Certes:  —  As  I  hae  said,  some  be  enemies  in  a 
blind,  to  put  me  aff  the  skellum's  track.  What's  mickle 
more,  a  day  and  a  night,  may  be  twa  three,  they  gat  me 
drunk.  Sae  time  has  been  lost,  precious  time;  for,  at  risk 
of  fee,  the  warrant  must  be  served  afore  the  Nancy  clears 
at  Greenock. 

These  tricks  and  lapses  the  Old  Lights,  Johnnie  fears, 
may  hae  gat  wind  of,  and,  if  sae,  he  may  be  fired,  and 
Johnnie  needs  the  cash. 

ROBIN:  Whare,  amang  a'  ye  say,  comes  in  the  helper? 

PEACOCK:  It  bethought  me  to  mak  out  a  circuit  of  skellum 
hunts,  had  I  a  Jack-at-a-pinch  to  stand  for  it  and  set  it 
out,  and  sae  help  me  at  the  Meeting. 
(Pause.) 

ROBIN  (aside):  To  be  at  this  meeting,  I  wad  tak  a  giant 
risk. 
(Pause.) 


ROBERT  BURNS  25 

ROBIN:  How  could  I  a  helper  be,  and  na  a  disguised  bearded 

man,  withoutten  anither  name? 

(Pause  —  Robin  reflecting.) 
ROBIN:  Something    might   be   done.  Tomorrow   evening's 

edge  meet  me,  as  Andy  Cargill,at  the  weeping  birch  afront 

the  manse  of  Pastor  Auld. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  H 


ACT  II 

Scene:  Room  at  manse  of  REV.  WILLIAM  ATJLD.    Time:  Even- 
ing.   Old  Light  Pastors  and    Elders  present:   REVERENDS 
WILLIAM  AULD,  JOHN  RUSSELL,  JAMES  McKiNLAY,  ANDREW 
MITCHELL,  WILLIAM  PEEBLES,  and  others. 
It  is  understood,  that  the  members  move  about,  more  or  less 
—  that  short  colloquies  may  be  conducted  from  seats  —  that 
others  speak  standing  and  in  a  formal  way. 
They  meet  under  special  circumstances  of  excitement  —  all 
charged  for  explosions. 

McKiNLAY  (rising):  My  dear  Brethern,  we  being  here  for 
a  most  important  purpose,  I  think  our  meeting  should  be 
of  formal  character,  and  therefore  suggest,  that  Brother 
Auld  be  called  to  the  chair. 
(Pause,  McKinlay  awaiting  reply  to  suggestion.) 
Hearing  no  objection,  I  declare  my  suggestion  unani- 
mously carried. 

(Pastor  Auld  takes  chair,  and  appoints  Rev.  Alexander 
Moodie  Secretary.) 

(Door  rings.  Enter  two  seedy-looking  old  men,  servant  an- 
nouncing John  Peacock  and  Andrew  Cargill,  the  latter 
(Burns)  with  grizzly  beard  and  gray  hair.  They  take  rear 
seats.) 

AULD:  For  your  presence,  my  dear  Brethern,  let  me  thank 
you.  Your  counsels  are  needed.  An  angry  cloud  im- 
pends. This  poetaster,  Burns,  has  allied  himself  enthusi- 
astically with  the  New  Light  faction,  and  that  we,  of  the 
orthodox  Old  Lights,  have  in  him  an  adversary  to  be 
taken  into  account,  will  not  be  denied. 
His  fugitive,  written-out,  pieces  had  aroused,  we  all  know, 
a  remarkable  local  interest.  Genius  sparkled  in  them; 


30  ROBERT  BURNS 

and  when  it  became  noised  about,  that  his  poems  were 
passing  through  the  Kilmarnock  press,  and  racy  leakings 
got  out,  the  interest  mounted.  The  booklet  has  appeared. 
To  Ayrshire  it  is  a  revelation.  Extraordinary  enthusiasm 
is  greeting  it. 

Unhappily,  we  were  forced  into  conflict  with  the  heresies 
of  these  New  Lights  before  this  recruit  of  theirs  turned  up. 
With  the  bellows  of  Vulcan  he  fans  the  fire,  lampooning 
us,  you  see,  most  vilely. 

Notwithstanding,  instead  of  being  as  one  amidst  the  heat 
and  danger  of  the  hour,  divisions  among  our  own  selves, 
regarding  this  rustic  and  his  work,  most  unfortunately 
have  arisen. 

Dear  Brethern,  your  ear:  (Most  impressive)  Orthodoxy  is 
challenged.  To  grasp  the  situation  —  to  get  together  and  get 
busy  —  to  see  what  can  be  done  to  offset  this  powerful  re- 
enforcement  on  the  other  side  —  is  A  PLAIN,  PRESSING, 

PARAMOUNT  DUTY. 

MC&NLAY  (rising):  Heart  and  soul  I  am  with  the  Chair. 
The  author  of  such  pieces  as  "  The  Ordination,"  "  The 
Holy  Fair,"  "  The  Kirk's  Alarm,"  we  dare  not  shut  eyes 
upon.  His  versifications  — 

MILLER  (interrupting) :  Let  me  amend  my  Brother's  phrase- 
ology, and,  for  the  scope  of  "  versifications,"  add  pro- 
fanations. 

RUSSELL:  I  would  further  amend,  and  add  villifications;  for 
the  mad-man's  hand  is  against  God  and  man  alike. 

McKiNLAY:  His  versifications,  profanations,  villifications 
(laughter)  —  any  more  emendations  (great  laughter)  ?  I 
am  open  for  record  (laughter). 

RUSSELL:  Why  not  cap  with  self-damnations  (rattling  laugh- 
ter, and  cries  of  "  hear,"  "  hear,"),  seeing  the  fellow  evi- 
dently is  marked  for  judgment? 

McKiNLAY:  His   versifications,   profanations,   villifications, 


ROBERT  BURNS  31 

self-damnations  (laughter)  —  any  more  (great  laughter)  ? 
The  string  may  bear  elongations  (bursts  of  laughter) . 
These  fulminations,  then,  bunching  the  lot  —  fresh,  in 
book  form,  from  the  Kilmarnock  press  —  are  being  seized 
upon,  right  and  left,  up  and  down,  by  high  and  by  low, 
at  the  street  corner,  in  castle  and  in  cot-house,  and  an 
adversary,  Brethern,  to  the  Old  Light  cause  indeed  has 
arisen. 

MILLER:  And  what  further  may  not  follow,  and  of  what 
depths,  who  can  tell? 

RUSSELL:  For  information  you  might  call  up  the  office  of  his 
Satanic  Majesty  (tumult  of  laughter  and  clapping).  The 
mad-man  holds  correspondence  there,  and  you  would  get 
depths  enough  (renewed  laughter). 

PEEBLES:  We  are  compelled,  Gentlemen,  to  admit  the  power 
of  this  man,  and,  as  Scotsmen,  feel  pride  in  it,  apart  from 
its  direction. 

RUSSELL:  Power!  —  Power!  —  Yes,  it  may  be  —  but  what 
power,  sir?  Verily,  the  devil's,  who  stands  at  his  right 
hand.  Is  the  Reverend  William  Peebles  —  enrolled  and 
rated,  as  he  is,  among  the  pillars  of  the  Kirk  —  ready  to 
avow  pride  in  the  works  of  the  devil? 
(Sensation,  and  loud  cries  of  "  hear!  "  "  hear!  ") 

MITCHELL:  Brother  William  is  disposed  to  be  tender  to  the 
arch  Arminian. 

PEEBLES:  Ha!  What  fine  mare's  nest  is  this  my  dear 
Brother  has  stumbled  on?  His  faculty  of  discrimination 
indeed  is  abroad.  I  was  expressing  simply  the  natural 
pride  a  Scotsman  ought  to  feel  in  a  countryman's  bril- 
liant gifts,  however  much  their  use  may  be  deplored. 

MITCHELL:  And  is  no  touch  of  tenderness  involved,  no  lurk- 
ing of  a  bias? 

PEEBLES:  Bias,  forsooth,  my  dear  Brother!  If  bias,  in  what 
direction,  pray?  Any  necessary  bias  toward  this  rustic 


32  ROBERT  BURNS 

Rhymer's  sins  I  fail  to  see.  With  all  our  Brother's  elect 
qualities,  he  is  overtaken  sometimes  by  ludicrous  con- 
fusion of  ideas. 

MITCHELL  (aroused) :  I  challenge,  sir,  an  instance. 

PEEBLES:  Whose   recent   invocation,    then,    for   the   royal 
family,  was  it,  that  took  on  this  expression:  God  bless  the 
king,  and  his  Majesty,  the  Queen,  and  her  Royal  High- 
ness, the  Prince  of  Wales? 
(Rattling  laughter.   Chair  raps  to  order.) 

PEEBLES:  Challenges  being  in  order,  I  challenge  myself,  sir, 
the  showing  of  a  shadow  of  a  shade  of  bias,  in  aught  I've 
said  or  done,  toward  the  profanations  and  abominations 
of  this  rustic  Bard. 

MITCHELL:  Recalling  "  The  Kirk's  Alarm,"  as  reported  to 
me  (I've  been  unable  to  secure  a  copy  of  the  booklet,  so 
rapidly  has  it  been  taken),  "  Rob  the  Rhymer,"  as  he 
styles  himself  — 

RUSSELL:  Pardon  the  interruption,  Brother,  but  the  mad- 
man's styling  should  rather  be  "Rob,  the  Ranter." 
(Laughter.) 

MITCHELL:  Very  well  —  "  Rob,  the  Ranter,"  is  so  very  tender 
with  Brother  William,  sweetly  patting  him  as  "  Poet 
Willie,"  while  be-spattering  the  rest  of  us. 
(Laughter,  with  claps,  and  cries  of  "  hear  I"   " 'hear 7  ") 

PEEBLES:  If  "  Rob,  the  Ranter,"  in  the  extravagance  of 
assertion,  chose  to  pen  it  so,  my  Brother  hints  an  infer- 
ence. What,  let  me  ask? 

MITCHELL:  That  the  doctrine  of  reciprocal  favors  is  ap- 
pealing. 

RUSSELL:  This  reporter,  if  actually  he  has  seen  "  The  Kirk's 
Alarm,"  has  foisted  upon  Brother  Peebles  a  practical  joke 
of  monster  proportions.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

PEEBLES  (aroused):  What  can  our  dear  Brother  mean? 

RUSSELL:  That  the  expression  "  Poet  Willie  "  the  Rhymster, 


ROBERT  BURNS  33 

in  the  next  line,  opens  up,  leaving  knocked  pat  into  a 
cocked  hat  Brother  Mitchell's  "  patting  sweetly,"  and  the 
compliment  left  handed  and  mal-odorous  completely. 
(Great  laughter.) 

PEEBLES  (bristling):  Again  I  ask,  what  can  our  Brother 
mean? 

RUSSELL:  This,  my  dear  sir:  A  copy  of  the  vile  piece  I  have 
seen  myself,  and  to  the  phrase  "  Poet  Willie  "  the  Rhymer 
gives  a  let  dawn  unco  silly;  or,  if  you  take  it  a  let  up,  he 
describes  the  Poet's  road  unco  hilly. 
(Great  laughter.) 

PEEBLES  (red  hot) :  I  demand,  now,  before  these  Brethern  and 
in  the  presence  of  God,  that  the  Gentleman  interpret  his 
riddles. 

RUSSELL:  Does  not  "  Rob,  the  Rhymer,"  then,  our  Brother 
describe,  as  one  who  Pegasus  can  never  bestride,  getting 
no  nearer  the  winged  steed,  than  to  smell  the  place  where 
he  dungs. 

(Profound  sensation,  with  loud  cries  of  "  hear!  "  "  hear!  " 
Chair  raps  to  order.) 

PEEBLES  (red  hot) :  So,  the  Rev.  John  Russell  verily  has  seen 
"  The  Kirk's  Alarm."  A  copy  of  this  precious  publica- 
tion I,  like  many  others,  have  been  unable,  in  the  rush 
after  it,  to  secure,  and  know  it  only  as  reported.  As  re- 
ported —  correctly,  I  take  it  —  the  Rhymster  names  one 
"  Rumble  John  "  of  tremendous  voice,  competent,  in  the 
Rhymster's  words,  to  "  roar  every  note  of  the  damned." 
My  Reverend  Brother  (hand-wave  to  Pastor  RusseU),  no 
doubt,  was  observant  here,  as  in  other  parts  of  this  piece, 
and  scarcely  could  hesitate,  as  no  other  would,  in  placing 
his  finger  immediately  on  the  original. 

RUSSELL  (red  hot) :  And,  prithee,  what  of  that,  sir?  The  vital 
question  recurs:  Could  our  Reverend  Brother  himself  de- 
liver God's  message  more  forcibly  and  better? 


34  ROBERT  BURNS 

PEEBLES:  Merely  I  would  suggest,  that  our  Boanerges  should 
limit  his  "  damned  roarings,"  in  the  interest  of  some,  at 
least,  of  his  hearers,  to  whom  the  raptures  of  heaven  offer 
argument  more  appealing  than  the  terrors  of  hades  —  all 
love,  all  joy,  all  praises,  no  roasting  in  blue  blazes. 
(Bursts  of  laughter.) 

RUSSELL  (fast,  furious*  resounding} :  Very  well,  sir,  very  well, 
nothing  loathe,  believe  me,  it  being  distinctly  understood, 
that,  from  roastings,  I  except  those  who  are  disposed  to 
be  apologists  for  this  mad-man,  this  rabid,  ribald  Rhy ra- 
ster. 

(Addressing  Chair)  The  atrocious  charge,  sir,  of  having  a 
God-given  tongue  I  shall  neither  palliate  nor  deny.  As 
to  its  alleged  manner  of  use,  I  am  nowise  disturbed.  My 
Reverend  Brother  has  a  mouth  and  a  tongue  of  his  own, 
and,  if  he  cannot  bite,  he  can  bark. 
(Sensation  —  cries  of  "  hear!  "  "  hear!  ") 
In  reference  to  this  mad-man,  Burns,  he  is  unblest  in  his 
very  locality.  From  the  period,  when  it  was  the  centre 
of  such  bloody  family  feuds  as  that  of  the  Kennedys  — 
when,  in  the  broad  light  of  day,  one  scarcely  could  walk 
the  streets  with  safety  —  Ayr  has  the  legacy  of  a  wicked 
spirit,  and  in  its  atmosphere,  sir,  this  mad-man  was  born 
and  bred. 

Some  original  turn  of  thought  in  this  rustic  must  be  al- 
lowed. His  card  is  an  impious  audacity.  It  startles  — 
for  a  day.  Tomorrow  —  why,  sir,  tomorrow  he  is  doomed 
to  drop  out  of  sight,  his  reputable  pieces  overwhelmed, 
buried,  lost  in  the  dirt  of  his  unparalleled  vulgarity,  sala- 
city, profanity! 
(Resounding  amens). 

Personally,  he  is  a  fine  representative  of  his  salacious 
lines.  Do  not  his  loves  change  with  every  moon?  Is  he 
not  a  notable  cock  of  the  roost,  a  libertine  by  eminence, 


ROBERT  BURNS  35 

with  his  hundred  sweet-hearts  a  goat  of  excessive  ability ! 
(Loud  cries  of  "  hear!  "  "  heart  ") 

And  apart  from  his  formally  wicked  phase,  how  can  an 
elegant  mind,  knowing  him,  be  affected  toward  him? 
His  pieces  measure  his  aesthetic  character.  What  is  that 
character?  Is  he  not,  sir,  the  very  equivalent  for  preten- 
tiousness? Is  not  his  heart,  as  he  himself  confesses,  ever 
panting  for  distinction?  Is  he  not  ashamed  of  his  circum- 
stances, burning  to  be  thought  of  as  something  finer 
than  he  is?  Though  a  villager,  does  he  not,  in  speaking, 
studiously  avoid  all  crude  village  expressions?  What 
means  this  affecting,  in  his  speech,  the  gentleman  of  ele- 
gance? Is  he  laboring  to  accommodate  himself  to  the 
conventions  of  society  and  aristocracy?  Has  ridiculous 
ambition  been  secretly  nourishing  the  idea  of  appearing  at 
the  Capital?  Is  this  rustic  dreaming  to  strut  among  the 
literary  lights  there?  Dream  of  Alnaschar!  Impudence 
in  excelsis: 

(Vociferous  applause  —  cries  of  "  hear!  "  "  hear!  " 
"  lay  on!  "  "  lay  on!  "  Chair  raps  to  order.) 
And  this  man,  sir,  of  such  a  character,  by  profession  an 
Arminian,  at  heart  an  infidel,  by  rule  a  bibulous  and  tav- 
ern habitue,  who  rides  a  whirlwind  assaulting  the  Kirk, 
a  torrent  of  ridicule  upon  its  representatives,  the  joy  of 
the  New  Light,  the  stress  of  the  Old  Light,  the  street  jeer 
of  the  Reverend  Pastors,  can  any  one,  sir,  be  of  us  (sig- 
nificant glance  at  Pastor  Peebles)  who,  with  bias  and 
apologetic  air,  softly  approaches  this  man?  Is  the  Trojan 
horse  within  this  city  of  God?  What,  Mr.  President,  is 
the  Presbytery  for,  but  to  apply  the  test  of  orthodoxy? 
Should  not  steps  — 

(Pastor  Auld,  deeply  moved  by  the  turn  of  the  meeting,  with 
resounding  hand  upon  table  and  springing  to  his  feet, 
breaks  in) : 


36  ROBERT  BURNS 

AULD  (tremendously  energetic  and  impressive):  God's  mercy 
on  us,  my  distracted  Brethern!  Here  we  are  —  at  what? 
Why,  pelting  each  other  —  bad,  bad  enough,  God  knows; 
but  worse  indeed,  when  the  missiles  are  those  very  ones 
which  this  arch  adversary,  against  whom  we  have  met 
together  to  consider  self-protection  measures,  is,  himself, 
furnishing  and  hurling  at  us!  Gracious  Heaven! 
Have  we  totally  lost  our  wits?  Has  this  Kilmarnock  edi- 
tion absolutely  crazed  us?  For  myself  I  feel  humiliated  — 
for  you  I  am  ashamed — I  am  amazed — I  feel  affrighted — 
I  tremble.  Can  God  be  with  us?  Lord  have  mercy  upon 
us:  For  God's  sake,  my  Brethern,  I  do  beseech  you  to  re- 
tire a  moment  to  the  closet  of  the  heart,  and  learn  what 
we  are,  and  why,  at  this  moment,  we  are  here! 
(The  brilliant  light  suddenly  is  out.  The  orchestra  suddenly 
has  ceased.  In  an  instant  all  is  dark  and  still.  —  A  few  mo- 
ments pass.  The  light  is  on.  Pastor  Auld's  prayer-appeal 
has  won.) 

RUSSELL  (to  Chair.  Subdued,  impressive):  This  Kilmarnock 
edition,  dear  sir,  has  turned  loose  among  us  the  imps  of 
Satan,  to  turn  our  heads.  As  apologist  in  chief,  I  with- 
draw all  reflections,  all  insinuations  (hand-wave  toward 
Rev.  Peebles),  and  everything,  I  do  solemnly  declare,  I  do 
put  aside,  to  accomplish  the  object  of  this  meeting,  in  con- 
certing, if  possible,  protective  measures  against  the  malig- 
nant star  arisen  among  us. 
("Hear!"  "hear!") 

PEEBLES:  With  my  Reverend  Brother  I  shake  willing  hands; 
and  am  I  not  assured,  that  the  spirit  of  his  sentiments  is 
that  of  this  godly  company? 
(Chorus  of  low,  intense  yeas.) 

AULD:  Right  cordially,  my  dear  Brethern,  do  I  salute  this 
spirit.  To  our  task:  To  underrate  this  adversary  will 
never  do.  Whatever,  in  the  future,  may  be  his  standing, 
we  are  bound  to  consider  Burns,  as  he  is  today. 


ROBERT  BURNS  37 

McKiNLAY:  True,  most  true,  'Tis  folly  to  deny  to  him  a 
bold  and  original  genius,  which,  as  now  the  recognized 
champion  of  the  New  Lights,  he  is  directing  against  us  in 
frightening  energy  of  expression. 

MILLER:  Orthodoxy,  in  West  Scotland,  verily  is  challenged. 
Of  satire  this  man  Burns  is  a  master.  Already  his  heretical 
sayings  are  on  the  rounds  like  winged  things. 

McKiNLAY:  Insects  busy  with  pestiferous  stings. 

PEEBLES:  And  spicing  even  the  sport  of  the  rabble  with  their 
flings. 

MITCHELL:  To  that  I  can  bear  witness.  What  think  you  of 
such  as  this  on  the  "  go,"  which  yesterday,  on  the  public 
square  of  Monkton,  within  my  hearing,  a  corner  gang 
quoted  at  me  from  "  The  Kirk's  Alarm,"  one  giving  out; 
"  Say,  are  Calvin's  sons  sure  of  their  spiritual  guns?  " 
And  a  fellow  cad  answering :  "  Ain't  they  crack  stuff,  wi' 
hearts  holdin'  powder  enough,  and  skulls  store-houses  of 
lead?  " 
(Sensation.) 

AULD:  And  that  atrocious  attack  in  "  Holy  Willie's  Prayer  " 
upon  our  William  Fisher,  my  friend  and  my  Elder,  now  in 
retreat  from  the  winks  and  finger-ends  of  the  street! 
(Sensation  —  cries  of  "  hear!  "  "  hear!  ") 

AULD:  Think  of  it,  my  Brethern !  Terrible!  terrible!  What 
heart,  hitherto,  ever  conceived  so  insulting  an  appeal 
to  heaven!  What  praying  lips  were  ever  supposed  to 
utter  so  vile  a  piece,  and  those  the  lips  of  a  Ruling 
Elder. 
(Sensation  —  cries  of  "hear!"  "hear!" 

AULD:  Excusing  his  self-confessed  lewdness  on  the  probable 
plea  of  being  allowed  of  God,  lest  the  super-eminence  of 
his  heavenly  gifts,  without  such  check,  should  expose  him 
to  spiritual  pride! 
(Profound  sensation  —  cries  of  "  hear!  "  "  hear!  ") 


38  ROBERT  BURNS 

AULD:  0  temporal   0  mores!   Where  can  be  found  the  word 

for  the  abomination! 

RUSSELL:  Satan's  dictionary  might  give  it. 
PEEBLES    (intense):  Gentlemen,   gentlemen,   we   must   act. 

Shall  the  mad-man  go  on  like  a  vulture  swooping  down 

upon  us,  with  talons  and  beak  for  blood? 
MILLER:  And  perhaps  with  increasing  malevolence?   What 

can  be  done? 
AULD  :  I  have  invited  my  Brethern  hither,  in  order  that  they 

might  consider  the  situation. 
MILLER:  Has  Brother  Auld  a  proposition? 
AULD  :  First,  a  word  with  these  new-comers. 

John  Peacock  (addressing  Peacock)  — 
PEACOCK:  Ay,  sir  —  but  Johnnie,  na  John,  may  it  please  your 

worship,  be  the  better  way. 
AULD:  Certainly,  as  you  wish,  though  John  strikes  me  as  a 

more  dignified  address  for  an  old  man  and  officer  of  the 

law. 
PEACOCK:  Na,  na,  whan  bad  luck  strikes  Johnnie  down  and 

out. 
BURNS:  Ay,  ay,  Johnnie.   Wi'  wind  and  tide  fair  in  our  tail, 

we  can  be  unco  dignified  and  good;  but  what  in  the  teeth 

of  both  to  sail? 
PEACOCK:  Ay,  ay,  Andy  —  then  Johnnie  be  no  for  dignity, 

but  what  smacks  of  sympathy  on  the  edge  of  the  Johnnie 

name,  and  invites. 

BURNS:  And  invites!   Losh  man!  And  bad  luck  still  strik- 
ing Johnnie?   Angel  creatures  there  be  now  and  then,  but 

och !  pestilentially  bad  be  the  general  run  of  men. 
AULD:  To  those  of  my  Brethern,  uninformed  as  to  all  the 

circumstances  of  the  situation,  let  me  say,  that  Johnnie 

Peacock,  a  business  unfortunate,  a  peculiar,  a  man  of 

learning  and  antiquarian  tastes,  and  but  yesterday  among 

us,  is  a  bailiff,  with  warrant,  issued  at  the  instance  of  the 


ROBERT  BURNS  39 

parish  guardians,  for  the  arrest  of  this  man  Burns,  in  con- 
nection with  an  intrigue. 

MILLER:  Simply  for  an  intrigue?  I've  heard  of  complica- 
tions. 

AULD:  For  a  year's  support  of  the  child  unborn,  so  many 
pounds,  ten,  I  hear,  the  jail  being  the  sanction. 

RUSSELL:  Is  the  mad-man  unable  to  pay? 

AULD:  So  it  appears;  and  he  is  endeavoring,  by  hay-cock 
and  otherwise  hidings,  to  escape  the  bailiff,  until,  by 
ship  now  due  at  Greenock,  he  can  make  for  the  West 
Indies  —  so  they  say. 

PEEBLES:  Self-expatriation!  The  finger  of  God!  Riddance 
of  his  person  means  riddance  of  his  pen. 

MITCHELL:  Provided  he  expatriates  far  enough. 

PEEBLES  :  Why,  across  the  sea  it  is  to  be,  to  the  West  Indies, 
as  Brother  Auld  tells  us,  they  say.  Would  you  have  him 
expatriate  to  far  Cathay? 

PEEBLES:  Evidently,  the  thing  for  us  to  do,  would  be  to 
satisfy  the  warrant,  a  trifle,  and  help  the  ribald  Rhymster 
to  the  West  Indies.  In  my  humble  judgment  safety  from 
further  blasts  on  expatriation  hinges. 

MILLER:  Brother  Peebles'  humble  judgment  it  may  be,  but, 
to  my  way  of  thinking,  a  snap  judgment. 

PEEBLES:  We  all,  physically,  are  on  seat,  or  on  feet,  but  psy- 
chologically on  tiptoe  for  the  grounds  of  Brother  Miller's 
opinion. 

MILLER:  Why,  sir,  an  ardent  Scotsman,  as  he's  represented 
to  be,  and  embittered  by  being  forced  his  native  land  to 
flee,  might  we  not  expect  his  fulminations,  triply  charged, 
to  be  fired  back,  like  Parthian  arrows,  to  plague  us? 

PEEBLES:  Did  my  Brother  ever  hear  of,  or  read  of,  or  think 
of,  torrid  zone  poets  worth  the  name?   Would  not  his  in- 
spiration ooze  out  with  the  perspiration? 
(Laughter.) 


40  ROBERT  BURNS 

MILLER:  But  here  we  have  a  frozen  one,  so  to  speak,  out  of 
the  North,  and,  thawed  and  opened  up  under  the  equator, 
would  he  not  be  tenfold  a  fire-brand  and  a  hater? 
(Round  laughter.) 

AULD:  Pleasing  exchanges,  my  dear  Brethern,  but  what  bear- 
ing have  they  on  the  purpose  of  our  deliberations?  Not 
a  tittle.  If  we  are  to  employ  Johnnie  Peacock,  as  some  of 
us  already  have  been  doing,  and  as  I  shall  propose  to  this 
meeting  to  continue  to  do,  expatriation  must  needs  be 
thrown  out,  Peacock,  in  the  interest  of  the  warrant, 
being  bound  to  the  parish  guardians  to  prevent,  as  he  can, 
Greenock  embarkation,  another  word,  to  all  intents,  for 
expatriation. 

RUSSELL:  Has  Brother  Auld,  then,  a  practical  advisement 
looking  to  protection  against  this  mad-man  and  hay -cock 
absconder? 

AULD:  So  I  have  just  intimated. 

RUSSELL  :  Yes  —  the  bud  has  appeared.  We  all  are  ready 
for  the  bloom. 

AULD:  My  advice  is  to  fee  Johnnie  Peacock  to  press  with 
renewed  activity  the  execution  of  the  warrant,  no  less  for 
our  interest,  than  for  that  of  the  Parish  Guardians, 
whose  legal  agent,  as  bailiff,  he  is. 

McKiNLAY:  That  means  the  jail. 

AULD:  Yes  —  Burns  being  unable  to  satisfy  the  money  end 
of  the  warrant. 
(Pause.) 

ELDER  MUIR:  What  effect  imprisonment  may  have  in  letting 
the  man  down  a  peg  and  withdrawing  a  scoffer  pen,  we 
cannot  say.  We  may  indulge  a  hope. 

MITCHELL:  That,  at  least,  it  may  smudge  his  wings  to  check 
this  unhallowed  soaring  near  the  skies. 

McKiNLAY:  At  any  rate,  it  is  something  practical,  offered 
on  the  spot  to  our  hand. 


ROBERT  BURNS  41 

RUSSELL:  With  genuine  satisfaction  I  take  Brother  Auld's 
advice,  and  for  the  sound  reason  (for  which  advice  gener- 
ally is  taken),  that  it  falls  in  with  my  inclination. 
(Laughter.) 

RUSSELL:  For  mad  men  the  jail  is  the  proper  den.  Let  the 
absconder  go  there,  to  his  doom. 

MUIR:  To  his  doom?   Do  you  mean  his  tomb? 

PEEBLES:  His  verse,  or  his  vitality? 

RUSSELL  (addressing  Muir):  Dost  thou  know  aught  of  the 
absconder's  personality? 

MUIR:  Nothing  to  the  point. 

RUSSELL:  Know,  then,  that  his  sensibility,  as  reported,  is 
an  exaggerated  super,  the  extremest,  of  one  born  without 
a  skin,  as  said  of  the  infidel  Rousseau.  The  jail,  a  mortal 
terror  and  a  shock,  would  it  not  break  his  spirit  —  nay, 
the  thread  of  life  itself  (speech  and  manner  intense)? 

MEETING:  Amen,  amen! 

AULD  :  Already  some  of  us  have  been  feeing  Johnnie  Peacock, 
like  Esau  of  old  a  "cunning  hunter,"  to  press  the  warrant 
and  have  promised  a  bonus,  when  he  lands.  To  my 
Brethern  I  shall  look  for  aid  in  the  matter. 

McKiNLAY:  This  meeting,  I  am  sure,  backs  Brother  Auld, 
and,  hearing  no  voice  to  the  contrary  (pauses,  looking 
around),  I  anticipate,  and  declare  the  would-be  motion 
carried  unanimously  and  with  great  applause. 

MUIR  :  Let  us  then  rally  our  Peacock  to  the  chase,  spurring 
the  willing  horse.   Brother  Auld  backs  him  O.  K.,  as  a 
good- to-bet-on  bird  of  prey. 
(Round  laughter.) 

AULD:  He  is  here  to  report  upon  the  hunt. 

(Addressing  Peacock)  I  see  that  Johnnie  Peacock  has  a 
companion. 

PEACOCK:  Ay,  ay,  your  worship. 

AULD:  A  helper  on  the  hunt? 


42  ROBERT  BURNS 

PEACOCK:  Ay,  ay,  sir. 

AULD:  Already  he  has  made  us  sensible  of  his  presence.   As 

coming  within  our  fee  and  bonus,  we  have  an  interest  in 

asking:  Who,  what,  and  whence  he  is. 
PEACOCK  :  He  looks  years  and  size  enough,  and  is  wise  enough 

to  speak  for  himsel'. 
BURNS:  Andy  Cargill,  your  Worship,  and  at  your  service. 

Lord  preserve  us  a'  frae  the  gallows,  that  shameful  death. 

(Meeting  shows  amazement  at  sentiment.) 
RUSSELL    (stage   whisper):  Crazy   man   hunting   mad-man. 

War  when  they  meet. 
BURNS:    Andy,  sir,  be  a  true  blue  Scot,  wi'  hame   in  the 

"  Highlands,"  whare  he  was  born  na  to  drink  the  sweet, 

or  eat  the  fat;  patient,  sir,  wi'  the  man  of  Uzz  yet  in  the 

lead;  and  a  justified  billie,  sir,  whan  ye  speak  him  fair, 

and  strake  him  cannie  wi'  the  hair. 

(Applause.) 

RUSSELL:  Stroke  t'other  way,  then,  means  what  —  wild  cat? 
BURNS:  Wad  it  na  be  just  as  easy  to  say  "  Highland  Wel- 
come? " 

PEEBLES:  But  would  it  be  just  as  true  ? 
BURNS:  Enough  that  Andy  does,  as  wad  the  man  of  Uzz— 

he  be  patient,  Reverend  sirs. 

(Laughter.) 
PEEBLES:  Happily   answered,    and   bespeaks   our   Andy   a 

happy  sort  of  billie. 
BURNS:  Happy  as  the  minister  wha  kissed  the  fiddler's  wife, 

and  couldna  preach  for  thinking  of  it. 
RUSSELL:  Remarkable,  when  love  should  have  been  a  text 

so  insinuating. 
BURNS:  Happy?  Ay,  ay.   Happy  here  to  help  Johnnie,  my 

good  auld  cockie.   He's  the  ace  and  choice  of  honest  men; 

and  no  that,  too,  for  terror  of  damnation.   It's  just  a 

carnal  inclination. 

(Applause.) 


ROBERT  BURNS  43 

BURNS:  Lang  syne  in  the  Highlands  we  twa  were  unco  thick 
thegither.  Love  blinked,  wit  slapped,  and  we  forgat 
there's  care  upon  the  earth.  Casting  our  colt's  teeth,  we 
betook  oursels'  to  curious  learning,  picking  out  the  anti- 
quarian trade. 

MOODIE  :  (Noting  Andy's  seedy  look) :  Apparently,  the  trade 
has  not  been  profitable. 

PEACOCK  :  Andy,  for  profits,  has  been  rummaging  too  mickle 
round  year  No.  1,  for  things  he  couldna  gat  at  all  —  as 
Eve's  petticoat. 

BURNS:  Didna  Andy  give  it  up,  because  that  piece  of  fig-leaf 
handiwork,  prized  and  preserved,  had  been  eat  by  a  goat 
in  the  Ark? 

PEACOCK:  Anither  dead  failure  was  a  coin  of  Satan's  coro- 
nation. 

BURNS  :  Dead  failure !  Stuff  and  nonsense !  Na,  na !  Because 
nae  one,  at  ony  price,  could  be  hired  to  gae  below  for  it. 
(Round  laughter.) 

BURNS  :  Weel  —  upon  us,  one  day,  blew  the  bitter  biting 
north,  and  wha  were  friends  in  fair  weather,  became 
brithers  in  foul. 
(Applause.) 

AULD:  You  are  here,  then,  to  aid  a  needy  brother. 

BURNS  :  Ay,  ay.  Johnnie  gat  me  word  his  pith  began  to  fail, 
and  Andy's  here. 

PEACOCK:  Besides,  Johnnie  has  lost  his  trackin'  hound. 

BURNS:  Poisoned,  nae  doubt,  by  those  rantin',  rovin',  billie 
friends  of  skellum  Burns. 

PEACOCK:  Tanko  was  a  faithful  bitch. 

BURNS:  I'm  aye  for  that.   We  twa  carry  her  weeds.   Sense 
and  fidelity,  your  worship,  be  prime  qualities;  and  whan 
they  meet  in  one  in  whom  we  can  confide,  we  draw  high 
thegither,  and  twa  more  legs  dinna  much  matter. 
(Pause.) 


44  ROBERT  BURNS 

AULD:  What  news  of  his  man  has  Johnnie  Peacock? 

PEACOCK:  We  hae  been  hot  on  his  heels,  slippin'  frae  hame 
to  hame  amang  his  friends. 

AULD:  Take  good  care  to  hide  him  —  eh? 

PEACOCK:  Ay,  ay,  sir  —  sleepin'  him  in  barns  and  under 
haycocks.  We  hae  followed  him  a'  round  and  round  — 
were  weel  on  his  tracks  up  and  down  the  Nith,  frae  its 
birth  hi  the  wilds  of  New  Cumnock,  to  the  Solway,  the 
lovely  winding  Nith,  whare  sae  oft  he  be  seen  musin' 
—  at  Kilmarnock  amang  the  weavers  —  at  Irvine  amang 
the  sailors  — 

BURNS  (Interrupting):  Och,  at  Irvine!  We  canna  forgat, 
sir,  that  night  at  Irvine,  that  night,  sir.  Our  travels 
mainly  must  be  by  night,  whan  ghosts  and  witches  hap 
and  tricks  be  handy. 

AULD:  What  hap  at  Irvine? 

BURNS:  Hap  indeed,  sir.  Had  tip,  sir,  to  round  up  the 
skellum  there.  (The  following  in  highly-declamatory 
style) :  We  were  toddlin'  down  by  Willie's  mill.  The  new- 
moon  stared  o'er  Cumnock's  distant  hill.  The  trusty 
hound  was  trottin'  by,  wi'  nose  agog  the  scent  to  try,  if 
the  hay-loft,  whare  we'd  been  tipped,  should  show  the 
slippery  skellum  slipped. 
(Applause.) 

BURNS:  (High  declamation  continued):  'Twas  an  unco  skel- 
lum squad,  and  tight,  met  us,  for  tricks,  that  Irvine 
night,  e'en  wi'  Luna's  beams  on  a'  sae  bright.  Bamboozle 
stuff  they  gat  in  finely  —  rich  foaming  ale  that  drank 
divinely.  We  twa  anon  did  gat  fu'  canty.  Wha  says 
drunk?  Avaunt!  We  just  had  plenty.  But  me  they  jolli- 
fied and  swore,  that  Andy  C.  was  half  seas  o'er,  and  dared 
me  Luna's  horns  to  score.  Wi'  a'  my  power  I  did  set 
mysel',  but  whether  she  had  three  or  four  I  couldna  tell. 
(Great  applause.) 


ROBERT  BURNS  45 

RUSSELL:  Andy  must  be  our  orator. 

PEACOCK:  In  such  ways,  sir,  by  skellum  squads,  hae  we  been 
sair  stopped. 

BURNS:  One  weel  nigh  stopped  Johnnie's  breath. 

AULD:  Indeed!  Tell  us,  Johnnie.   We  shall  see,   that  the 
quest  trials  are  not  forgotten  in  the  fee. 

BURNS:  Andy  must  tell  of  such  a  hap.   Johnnie  couldna,  if 
he  wad.   He  gat  aff  the  hooks  that  night. 

MITCHELL:  Well,  Johnnie  is  here,  apparently  in  the  flesh,  to 
hear  his  death  narrated,  if  he  cannot  narrate  it  himself. 
(Laughter.) 

BURNS:  Johnnie  be  in  one  unco  fright.  He  fears  the  job's  to 
be  his  death.  Letters  come  ilka  day,  skellum  squads  sae 
busy,  wi'  naithing  in  them  but  death's  auld  picture  — 
and  such  a  picture,  in  such  colors  and  drawn  by  master- 
hand:  An  awful  scythe,  out  over  one  shoulder,  clear 
dangling  hangs;  a  three-forked  fish-spear,  on  the  ither, 
lies  large  and  lang.  Ilka  letter  has  this  awful  picture  and 
nane  else,  and  Johnnie's  gettin's  eerie. 
We  had  peered  about  John  Wilson's  —  through  Mau- 
cline,  and  Tarbolton  —  and  tarried  nigh  "Auld  Rome 
Forest,"  whare  lives  the  skellum's  aunt,  Dame  Allen. 
(High  declamatory  style):  That  hour,  of  night's  black 
arch  the  key-stone,  that  dreary  hour  saw  us  on  way- 
home;  and  such  a  night  we  mak'  the  road  in,  as  ne'er  poor 
sinner  was  abroad  in.  The  wind  blew  as  'twad  blawn  its 
last;  the  rattling  rain  rose  on  the  blast;  the  lightning 
gleams  the  darkness  swallowed;  loud,  deep  and  lang  the 
thunder  bellowed.  That  night  a  child  might  understand 
some  devilish  business  was  on  hand. 
(Applause.) 

(Declamation  continued) .  Wi'  Ayr  aback  we  lumbered  on  a 
stretch  of  road  for  horrors  known.  Afront,  auld  Alloway's 
haunted  kirk  was  nigh,  whare  ghosts  and  howlets 


46  ROBERT  BURNS 

nightly  cry.  The  doubling  storm  roars  through  the  woods; 
the  roadway  runs  wi'  ankle  floods;  the  lightnings  flash 
frae  pole  to  pole;  near  and  more  near  the  thunders  roll. 
Johnnie  was  in  an  eerie  bother.  I  watched  him  as  I'd 
watch  a  brother.  Now,  holding  fast  his  good  blue  bonnet; 
now,  croons,  for  nerves,  an  auld  Scots  sonnet;  now,  starin' 
round  wi'  prudent  cares,  lest  witches  catch  him  unawares. 
A  lightning  gleam  gies  nerves  the  rigors,  glimpsing  ap- 
parition figures.  We  just  had  passed  the  double  cairns, 
whare  hunters  found  the  murdered  bairns,  and  near  the 
thorn  aboon  the  well,  whare  Mungo's  mither  hanged 
hersel',  whan  Johnnie,  wow!  in  wild  alarms,  stumbles  to 
a  dead  man's  arms!  He  was  an  awful  sight  to  see,  sir,  by 
lightning's  gleam  just  glimpsed  to  me,  sir.  Each  bristled 
hair  stood  like  a  stake.  Johnnie,  I  feared,  wad  never 
wake.  Wi'  hand  on  hip  and  upward  ee,  his  feeble  pulse 
forgat  to  play  —  he  cried  aloud  and  died  away! 
(Great  applause.  Cries  of  "  hear!  "  "  hear!  ") 

PEACOCK:  In  such  ways,  sir,  the  hunt  has  been  sair  blocked, 
and  by  those  verra'  skellum  squads,  nae  doubt.  The 
loons,  I  wot  it  was,  wha  tricked  us  wi'  a  dummy  corpse 
that  stormy  night,  the  apparition  figures  we  glimpsed, 
finding  out  Johnnie's  peculiar  relation  to  a  dead  body, 
dooming  a  falling-sickness  fit. 

But  the  end  be  in  sight,  sir.  We  hae  a  sure  tip  the  skel- 
lum will  be  at  hame  tomorrow  night  wi'  misting  een,  to 
say  fareweel,  as  he  leaves  for  Greenock,  to  dear  auld 
Scotland,  and  to  mither  and  a'.  He  be  caught  on  the 
roost,  or  I  be  nae  Peacock,  and  the  skellum  can  dry  his 
tears  a- jail. 

BURNS:  Johnnie,  tomorrow  night,  gets  his  victim  aff  the 
roost,  and  Andy  gets  aff  the  job  I  be  wi'  him.  Then  aff 
Andy  gets  to  the  Highlands,  wi'  a  last  word  for  Johnnie 
frae  the  tide  of  kindness  that  warms  the  heart  of  Andy. 


ROBERT  BURNS  47 

Be  deuce  shy,  O  Johnnie,  of  stumbling  to  dead  men's 
arms.  Such  eldritch  fright  be  wi'  ye  still,  that  to  stumble 
on  a  dead  wad  be  without  remead.  'Twad  be  like  ye  had 
touched  anither  Elisha's  bones,  to  stand  upon  the  feet 
and  smite. 

And  to  ye,  O  Reverend  sirs,  in  plain  broad  Scotch,  be 
Andy's  fareweel: 

(Straightened  statue,  bold  air,  resounding  tone,  suppressed 
anger)  Andy  has  heard  a  rumble  and  shakes  his  head. 
Land  of  cakes,  of  Bruce  and  Wallace,  justice,  justice  for 
a  brither  Scot!  If  no  the  thing  he  should  be,  if  no  the 
thing  he  would  be,  nor  even  the  thing  he  could  be,  he's 
Sandy  to  the  core,  and  na  here  to  speak  for  himsel'. 
Wha  is  it  says  "  Andy  must  be  our  orator?  "  —  Andy  is 
willin': 

A  hundred  sweethearts! —  Is  God  to  be  arraigned,  Rever- 
end sir  (hand-wave  toward  Pastor  Russell),  for  gieing  a 
comely  form  for  these  women  to  run  after?  Faith,  sir, 
then  tackle  ye  the  women,  out  dressed  to  death  and  keen 
to  be  killin'! 

A  hundred  sweethearts!  —  Fudge!  —  Old  wives  gossipy 
chagrin  for  faded  charms  that  na  langer  win.  O  wives, 
O  wives,  be  fair,  be  fair!  Think  how  once  yoursels'  dear 
bonny  lads  ye  wanted! 

Hundred  sweethearts !  —  Onyhow,  to  step  aside,  sir,  is 
human,  and  if  numbers  the  argument  must  be.  what 
justice  for  such  tremendous  rumble  at  the  Scot,  wi'  just 
a  beggarly  hundred,  whan  the  wisest  man  the  world  e'er 
saw  be  your  Scripture  down  for  three  hundred? 
Grooming  himself  to  strut  amang  the  illuminati!  Weel 
dear  sir  (wave  toward  Pastor  Russell),  if  God  has  given 
him  a  true  spark  of  nature's  fire,  shall  he  be  branded  for 
nursing  it,  to  shine  in  its  kindred  sphere?  Faith,  sir! 
God  himsel',  then,  brand. 


48  ROBERT  BURNS 

And  ah  there!  have  a  care,  have  a  care,  ye  Reverend 
illuminati  sirs,  lest  this  nurseling  billie  overtak'  ye,  and 
the  hay-loft  absconder  cock  his  nose  aboon  ye  a'.  Wi*  ye 
"  rigid  righteous  "  —  of  three  mile  prayer  and  half  mile 
graces  —  do  ye  think  our  Sandy's  destiny  wad  shift 
places?  Today  ye're  rich,  and  strut,  and  look  big,  but  if 
ye  lay  by  the  hat  and  the  wig,  ye  wad  show,  may  be,  a 
calf's  head  of  small  value;  and  in  the  generations,  as  time 
runs  aff  his  reels,  what  think  ye  of  being  known  but  as  the 
wee  doggies  snapping  at  Sandy's  heels?  What  think  ye, 
sirs,  of  such  sole  call  upon  fame  to  hand  ye  on? 
Shall  old  wives'  gossip,  then,  imaginations,  exaggerations, 
mal-representations,  in  voice  to  "  roar  every  note  of  the 
damned,"  (wave  toward  Pastor  Russell)  be  rumbled  out 
to  down  our  Sandy  for  random  fits  of  folly,  and  jabs  at 
the  cloth  amang  ye  that's  spotted,  whare  the  more  'tis  a 
truth,  sir,  the  less  'tis  a  libel? 

Ah !  this  defamer  gies  us  a  glance  at  that  hideous  sight,  a 
naked  human  heart.  Godly  timber  be  scant,  whare  he's 
taken  for  a  saunt.  Let  him  repent,  or  get  auld  Hornie 
after  him.  He  may  run  to  hide;  but  wha  wad  cry  a  won- 
der at  his  escaping  like  a  hay-loft  absconder?  Na,  na!  For 
such  auld  Hornie's  sure,  shaking  'em  o'er  the  mouth  of 
hell,  there  to  hang,  and  roar,  and  yell,  tremendous 
rumble;  and,  if  they  offer  to  rebel,  in  letting  'em  tumble. 
(The  bearing  and  sentiments  of  Car  gill,  suddenly  so  changed, 
strike  the  meeting  with  dumb  amazement — fascinate,  as 
by  a  species  of  witchcraft,  throwing  a  spell,  checking  protest 
of  members,  or  gavel  of  chairman.  As  Car  gill  turns  upon 
heel  and  dashes  out,  the  spell  is  broken,  Pastor  Auld  vocifer- 
ating above  the  Babel) : 

AULD  (to  Peacock  —  in  thunder  tones) :  Bring  that  man  back! 
Upon  my  soul  I  believe  it's  that  fellow  Burns! 
(The  curtain  drops  upon  a  scene  of  wild  confusion,  the  meet- 


ROBERT  BURNS  49 

ing  vociferating  and  gesticulating  —  one  shouting,  "  / 
thought  he  was  too  familiar  with  that  Kilmarnock  edition,'* 
and  another  and  another  responding,  "  So  did  I  "  —  "  So 
did  /.") 


ACT  III 


ACT  III 

Scene:  Evening.  The  bed-room  of  Robert  and  Gilbert  Burns, 
being  the  middle  attic  of  the  one-and-a-half  Mossgiel  farm- 
house. In  the  room  one  plain  double  bed,  one  plain  table, 
three  plain  strong  wooden  chairs,  one  three-leg  stool  —  all  the 
circumstances  indicative  of  straightened  means.  Rush  candle, 
of  weak  light,  burns  on  table.  Branchlet  of  holly  lies  on  table. 
Robert  Burns  and  his  brother  Gilbert  discovered  entering — 
in  earnest  colloquy  —  Gilbert  expostulating. 

GILBERT:  Robert,  Robert,  canna  some  ither  turn  be  tried? 

ROBERT:  Nane  sae  handy  and  sae  meet  to  pack  aff  Peacock. 

GILBERT  :  But  — 

ROBERT:  But  what,  Gilbert?  Peacock  is  tipped  here  tonight, 
and  may  drap  on  us  ony  moment. 

GILBERT:  But  to  hae  Robert  dead,  even  though  a  sham! 

ROBERT:  Just  a  forecast  for  Robert  dying. 

GILBERT:  Robert,  Robert,  the  parting  be  sair  enough,  with- 
outten  your  death-scene. 

ROBERT:  Nae  time,  Gilbert,  for  the  ass  atween  twa  bundles 
of  hay.  At  the  sight  of  a  corpse  Peacock's  infirmity,  as 
ye  know,  taks  a  fit.  Press  my  parting  griefs  up  to  whare 
he  kens  me  dead.  I  gae  to  make  ready  my  bier,  wi' 
candle,  and  winding-sheet,  and  draping  weeds,  and 
mourners  a',  for  his  admittance.  It  will  tend,  fire  fight- 
ing fire,  to  soothe  the  melancholy  fiend  within  my  breast. 
(Exit  Robert  Burns).  (Gilbert  in  manifestations  of  grief.) 

GILBERT  (in  grief  soliloquy) :  Tomorrow  my  brither  Robert 
leaves  for  Greenock  and  the  West  Indies  —  if  he  can  out- 
wit the  officers  —  hounded  out  of  his  beloved  Scotland ! 
Woe's  me  for  the  family  wi'  my  brither  awa'.  His  leaving 
gies  a  fell  blow.  Alack,  alack, for  that  Jean  Armour  scrape! 


54  ROBERT  BURNS 

It  has  uncoupled  at  his  heels  the  merciless  pack  of  the  law. 
The  lee-lang  week  he  has  been  dodging  the  officers  frae 
covert  to  covert,  under  a'  the  terrors  of  a  jail,  hiding  in  the 
woods  by  day,  and  in  barns  by  night. 
(Pause  —  manifestations  of  grief.) 

Robert  awa',  and  what,  good  Heavens,  shall  we  do!  The 
harvest  is  flat  and  debt  gaeing  up.  Gently  treated,  we 
might  warstle  through  our  difficulties.  But  the  laird's 
brutal  scoundrel  of  a  factor  is  sending  insolent,  threat- 
ening letters,  settin'  us  a'  in  tears.  Now  Robert  leaves, 
and  what,  in  God's  name,  shall  we  do? 
(Gilbert  draws  a  paper  from  his  pocket  and  attentively  re- 
gards it,  as  he  walks  up  and  down  the  room.  Once  or  more 
he  stops  and  takes  seat  at  table,  to  make  some  change  or  cor- 
rection. Then,  paper  in  hand  and  walking  up  and  down, 
continues  the  soliloquy). 

GILBERT:  Robert  gone  and  what's  to  become  of  us!  (Grief 
demonstrations)  Nane  sae  good  wi'  plow  and  flail.  The 
harvest  a  failure  on  this  cold,  stiff  soil  —  debt  gaeing  up 

—  the  factor  threatening  —  and  Robert  awa' !   In  God's 
name,  what's  to  become  of  mither  and  a' !   Mossgiel  farm 
must  be  surrendered.   Nae  hope,  nae  hope!   New  tenants 
must  come;  and  they  shall  know,  ay!  they  shall  know  the 
glory  of  this  room  \ 

(Gilbert  tacks  to  wall  the  strip  of  paper  he  has  been  handling 

—  then  reads  it  aloud,  as  he  looks  at  it) : 

GILBERT:  At  a  small  plain  table  in  this  middle  attic  of  the 
Mossgiel  farm  house,  by  the  flickering  light  of  a  rush 
candle,  under  circumstances  of  drudgery  and  want, 
seven  pounds  a  year  limiting  his  personal  expenses,  Rob- 
ert Burns,  of  nights,  corrected,  finished  up,  and  wrote 
out  the  memorable  poems  and  sangs  that  took  shape  in 
his  beautiful  mind,  as  he  followed  the  plow  or  swung  the 
scythe. 
(Enter  Peacock,  the  bailiff.) 


ROBERT  BURNS  55 

GILBERT  (surprised) :  Wha  be  ye? 

PEACOCK:  Johnnie  Peacock. 

GILBERT  :  And  why  be  Johnnie  Peacock  here  at  such  an  hour? 

PEACOCK:  Was  told  down  stairs  Robert  Burns  was  up  here, 

hae  urgent  business  wi'  him,  and  wad  be  glad  to  see  him. 
GILBERT  (stalwart  and  blunt  of  speech) :  Nae  doubt,  nae  doubt. 

Sae  wad  I. 

(Pause.) 

PEACOCK:  This  be  Gibbie  Burns? 
GILBERT  :  Sae  coofs  name  me.   Wi'  gentles  it  be  Gilbert. 

(Pause.) 

PEACOCK:  Robert's  brither? 
GILBERT  :  I  hae  an  ancient  and  rooted  opinion  of  that  fashion, 

on  mither's  testimony. 

PEACOCK:  Safe  limb  to  hang  pedigree  opinions  on. 
GILBERT  :  Ay,  ay  —  safer  than  some  limbs  of  the  law,  wi'  a 

spirit  to  hang  and  quarter. 

(Pause.) 

PEACOCK:  Isna  this  Robert  Burns'  room? 
GILBERT:  Naebody's  else. 
PEACOCK:  Yours,  too,  be  it  na? 
GILBERT:  Naebody's  else. 

PEACOCK:  Sae  ye  mak  yoursel'  a  naebody  —  eh? 
GILBERT:  Ay,  ay  —  I  be  a  naebody,  a  naebody  sangster. 

(Sings). 

I  hae  a  wife  o'  my  ain  — 

I'll  partake  wi'  naebody. 
I'll  tak  cuckold  frae  nane; 
I'll  gie  cuckold  to  naebody. 

I  hae  a  penny  to  spend; 

There  —  thanks  to  naebody. 
I  hae  naething  to  lend; 

I'll  borrow  frae  naebody. 


56  ROBERT  BURNS 

I  am  naebody's  lord; 

I'll  be  slave  to  naebody. 
I  hae  a  guid  broad  sword; 

I'll  tak'  dunts  frae  naebody. 

(The  singer,  as  he  sings,  moves  up  and  down  the  room.  At 
the  word  "  dunts  "  he  is  near  the  Bailiff,  and  the  staff  in  his 
hand  is  made  to  whirl  and  whiz  in  close  proximity  to  the 
Bailiff's  head,  which  dodges  away.) 

I'll  be  merry  and  free; 

I'll  be  sad  for  naebody. 
If  naebody  care  for  me, 
I'll  care  for  naebody. 

(Pause.) 

PEACOCK:  Robert  Burns  isna  in  —  eh? 
GILBERT  :  Canna  ye  see  for  yousel'  ?   Ye  hae  one  ee  that  seems 

to  serve  ye  weel.   The  cat  has  twa  the  very  color. 
PEACOCK:  Yes,  I  can  see  for  myseP.   I  hae  na  lookit  under 

that  (peering  at  bed). 

(He  advances  toward  bed.   Gilbert  steps  in  his  way,  to  stop 

him,  saying.) 

GILBERT:  Na,  na!  Nae  good,  and  risky. 
PEACOCK:  Ye  told  me  to  see  for  myseF,  and  I  be,  too,  one  wi' 

authority.   Losh,  man,  I  must  look. 
GILBERT  (stepping  aside) :  Aweel  —  as  ye  will,  man. 

(As  the  Bailiff  stoops  and  lifts  the  hanging  cover,  a  deep  fierce 

growl  startles  him.   In  the  sudden  effort  to  rise,  under  the 

circumstances,  the  little  man  tumbles  over  backward,  as  a 

powerful  collie  rushes  out.   Gilbert  seizes  and  holds  the  collie 

by  its  collar.) 
GILBERT  (to  the  collie,  releasing  dog):  Back,  Luath,  back  to 

your  place.    (Collie  retires  under  bed.)    (To  Bailiff)  Didna 

I  warn  ye?   Ye  hae  found  Robert's  dog,  if  no  Robert. 


ROBERT  BURNS  57 

PEACOCK:  He  may  be  there,  too  (pointing  to  bed.)   He  has 
writ  about  "  Twa  Dogs,"  friendly  and  gaeing  thegither. 

GILBERT:  Ha,  ha,  ha!   Tak'  the  risk,  and  the  Lord  hae 
mercy  on  thee. 
(Pause.) 

PEACOCK:  They  told  me  Robert  Burns  was  up  here. 

GILBERT:  And  in  tears,  did  they  na? 

(Pause  —  Peacock  looking  around  mystified.) 

PEACOCK:  In  weeds  —  if  na  in  tears.  —  And  there  —  I  see 
yours  (observing  crape  on  Gilbert's  arm).   Can  he  be  dead? 

GILBERT  (intense,  and  in  exaggerated  declamatory  style,  to 
carry  out  the  design  against  Peacock) :  Wadna  that  throw 
ye  on  beam  ends,  if  ye  knew  Robert?  We're  a'  in  tears. 
Lord!  has  na  the  poor  billie  been  taxed  enough  to  mak' 
him  dead?  A  poor  billie!  Ay,  ay  —  his  station  cast  by 
the  fates  in  the  verriest  shades  of  life,  and,  against  cher- 
ished ambitions,  held  there  by  the  fates  —  and  yet  wi'  a 
spark  of  nature's  fire  worth  top-notch  above  these  college 
dons.  What,  onyhow,  be  a'  the  jargon  of  their  schools, 
their  Latin  names  for  horns  and  stools,  if  honest  nature 
made  them  fools,  wi'  brains  confused  in  college  classes, 
wha  gae  in  colts  and  come  out  asses?  Sae  richly  gifted, 
this  rustic  born  —  yet  sae  suppressed,  sae  depressed  — 
the  buds  of  ambition  blighted  in  his  low  dark  shades  of 
life!  Bitter,  bitter!  What  wonder,  if  this  peculiar,  agon- 
izing soul  of  sensibility  be  dead,  dead,  DEAD? 
(Peacock  recalls  the  monition  of  Nannie  Brice.) 

GILBERT:  And  what  wound  to  Robert's  glowing  Scots  heart, 
to  think  of  saying  fareweel  to  dear  auld  Scotland,  hasting, 
wi'  wind  and  storm,  to  a  far  distant  shore,  whare,  un- 
known, unlamented,  his  ashes  wad  rest,  and  joy  wad  re- 
visit his  bosom  nae  more! 
(Pause.) 
And  that  sacred  precinct,  Scotland's  centre,  the  bonny 


58  ROBERT  BURNS 

banks  of  Ayr,  what  ties,  what  ties,  bind  Robert  there! 
Didna  the  Muses  breathe  upon  him  there?  Didna  Coila, 
his  native  district  Muse,  even  frae  his  natal  hour  cherish 
him  there?  Ah!  it  breaks  his  heart,  these  ties  to  tear,  to 
fareweel  the  bonny  banks  of  Ayr! 

(Pause.  Gilbert's  exceeding  intensity,  and  air,  and  eye, 
fascinate  Peacock,  as  if  casting  a  species  of  spell.) 

GILBERT:  The  bonny  banks  of  Ayr!  And  that  ither  tie  bind- 
ing Robert  there!  Was  ever  lover  sae  possessed,  and  wi' 
small  wonder  —  she,  the  sweetest  flower  in  a'  west  Scot- 
land? Whare  was  he  wont  to  bide  the  tryst  wi'  Jean?  On 
these  bonny  banks  of  Ayr!  Mustna  he  frae  her  be  torn, 
bleeding  frae  ilka  heart-fibre,  as  he  breaks  awa'?  Alas! 
these  ties,  these  ties  he  now  must  tear  —  adieu  to  bonny 
banks  of  Ayr! 
(Pause.  Fascination  deepens.) 

GILBERT:  As  for  mysel',  oh  Heavens!  my  friend  and  brither, 
like  thee  whare  shall  I  find  anither  —  the  wide  world 
round  (intense  grief  manifestations)?  He  was  my  billie, 
dam,  and  sire!  He's  gone,  he's  gone,  he's  frae  us  torn, 
the  aye  best  fellow  e'er  was  born.  Frae  mine  een  the 
drappin'  rain  must  ever  flow,  and  weep  the  aye  best 
fellow's  fate  e'er  lived  below! 
(Pause.  Peacock's  countenance  troubled.) 

GILBERT:  Johnnie  Peacock,  O  Johnnie,  ye  look  ye're  wi'  me 
in  this  affliction.  Forgive  my  roughness  just  now.  Mis- 
took ye  for  one  of  those  uncircumcized  Philistines,  out  wi' 
warrant  for  Robert.  Amen,  I  tell  ye,  Johnnie,  the  poor 
billie  has  felt  misfortune's  cold  nor'west,  lang  mustering 
up  a  bitter  blast;  and  now,  on  tap  of  a',  he's  taken  awa'. 
Can  ye  wonder  we're  a'  in  tears? 
(Pause.) 

GILBERT:  Ay,  ay,  he's  up  here,  as  they  told  ye.   Hae  ye  ever 
seen  Robert? 


ROBERT  BURNS  59 

PEACOCK:  Na. 

GILBERT:  Come!   Ye  shall  see  him. 
(Pause  —  Peacock  frightened.) 

PEACOCK:  Na,  na  —  if  he  be  dead. 

GILBERT:  Come,  come!  He  be  sleeping  in  the  next  room. 
(Curtain,  dropping  a  moment,  rises  on  death  scene.  Room 
darkened  and  in  sables.  In  centre,  catafalque  upholstered 
in  white.  Upon  it  a  corpse  covered  by  white  sheet.  Light  fo- 
cused on  head  of  corpse.  Round  about  catafalque  mourners 
seen  in  weeds.  Gilbert  Burns  and  Peacock  standing  by 
catafalque.) 

GILBERT  :  You  can  see  Robert  now  (from  head  of  corpse  turn- 
ing back  sheet.) 

(With  thrilling  cry  Peacock  faints  and  falls  before  ghastly 
countenance.  Gilbert  shoulders  Peacock  and  makes  exit 
to  right.  Curtain,  dropping  a  moment,  rises  on  original 
scene.  Enter  Gilbert  Burns  from  right.  Enter  Robert  Burns 
from  left.) 

ROBERT  (serious  air) :  Whare  is  he? 

GILBERT:  Speeding  to  Pastor  Auld's  and  his  Old  Light 
fellows,  awaiting  the  Bailiff's  report. 

ROBERT:  Recovered  sae  soon? 

GILBERT:  Restoratives,  for  the  occasion,  acted  promptly. 

ROBERT:  Bearer  of  joy,  nae  doubt. 

GILBERT  :  This  warrant  bearer  —  ay,  ay,  now  a  bearer  of 
joy,  that  the  arch  enemy's  death  warrant,  wi'  his  ain  eyes, 
he  has  seen  executed. 

ROBERT:  He  invited  a  fright. 

GILBERT  :  'Tis  to  be  hoped  he  pockets  the  fee  sae  fat,  before 
the  bag  lets  slip  the  cat. 

ROBERT:  Johnnie  is  a  canty  sort  of  billie,  and  I  wish  him 
weel,  despite  the  chase.  In  the  incognito  alliance  I 
hae  jollied  —  one  of  the  few  jollies  that  happen  to  my 
lot. 


60  ROBERT  BURNS 

GILBERT:  But  you're  sae  intense,  Robert,  that  one  of  yours 
matches  mony  of  ours. 

ROBERT:  Some  draps  of  joy,  wi'  draughts  of  ill  between. 
(Long  pause,  —  Robert  buried  in  reflection.   His  coloquy 
with  Gilbert  marked  by  profound  dejection  of  spirits,  with 
outbursts.} 

ROBERT:  To  Peacock,  Gilbert,  you  have  just  preached  my 
funeral,  wi'  equal  truth,  eloquence,  and  infliction.  I  am 
dead.  The  dummy  is  my  faithful  representative.  You 
have  renewed  a'  the  anguish  of  my  soul.  Billows  (burst 
of  excitement)  rage  again  —  gales  blow  hard  —  storm  of 
care  and  grief  in  wild  fury  sweeps  over  me.  Hail  (transport) 
thou  gloomy  night,  meet  companion  of  my  spirit!  Hail 
thou  howling  winter  that  muffles  up  his  cloak  and  binds 
the  mire  like  a  rock!  Chilly  grief  my  life-blood  freezes! 
Fell  despair  my  fancy  seizes! 
(Gilbert  weeps.) 

GILBERT:  Woe's  me,  my  dear  brither!  I  should  hae  known 
better.  It  was  to  carry  out  your  ain  idea,  to  scare  the 
Bailiff  awa'. 

ROBERT:  You  drew  such  a  picture. 

GILBERT:  The  expression  of  my  ain  deep  grief,  my  dear 
brither  —  a  flood  I  couldna  repress. 
(Pause.) 

ROBERT  :  I  am  ready  to  bid  the  world  good  night.  The  hour 
moves  me. 

GILBERT:  I  know,  Robert,  I  know.    It  must.   I  am  deeply 
deeply  moved   mysel'.   Ilka  moment  my   thoughts   be 
upon  your  leaving  us.    I  canna  divert  them. 
(Pause.) 

ROBERT:  What  solace  for  a  soul,  Gilbert,  in  a  world  'gainst 
peace  in  constant  arms  —  life  a  galling  load  —  itsel'  a 
disease? 

GILBERT:  I  wot  of  but  one  relief. 


ROBERT  BURNS  61 

ROBERT:  And  what  is  that? 

GILBERT:  A  correspondence  fixed  wi'  Heaven. 

ROBERT:  Has  the  cry  been  heard? 

(Pause.) 
ROBERT:  Wi'  those  friends  down  stairs,  to  say  me  good-bye, 

I  ran  on  just  now  over  the  death-scene.   Surface  play, 

Gilbert.   Within,  the  eve  of  leaving  crushes  me.   I  repeat 

recent  lines  to  a  friend: 

You  think  I'm  glad  —  Oh!  I  pay  weel 

For  a'  the  joy  I  borrow. 

In  solitude  (then,  then  I  feel) 

I  canna  to  mysel'  conceal 

My  deeply -ranklin'  sorrow. 

Fareweel!   Within  thy  bosom  free 

A  sigh  may  whiles  awaken, 
A  tear  may  wet  thy  laughin'  ee 
For  Scotia's  son,  once  gay  like  thee, 

Now  hopeless,  comfortless,  forsaken! 

(Pause.   Gilbert  in  tears.) 

GILBERT:  The  present  moment,  Robert,  wi'  a'  its  load,  is  our 
ain.  The  next  we  never  saw.  It  may  hold  something. 

ROBERT:  Time  canna  aid  me.  My  griefs  are  immortal.  I 
hae  turned  my  een  to  behold  madness  and  folly,  and  too 
often  shaken  hands  wi'  their  intoxicating  friendship. 

GILBERT:  Whose  page,  Robert,  is  spotless? 

ROBERT  :  Tis  Robert  wha  sits  and  counts  his  sins  by  chapters . 
(Pause.) 

GILBERT:  Life  is  a  struggle  and  a  trial,  Robert,  and  should 
it  na  be  sae  accepted  by  us? 

ROBERT  :  True  —  the  canniest  way  the  strife  is  sair.  To 
some,  made  up  like  mysel',  intensely  sair.  There  is,  Gil- 
bert, as  ye  know  too  weel,  a  foggy  atmosphere  native  to 


62  ROBERT  BURNS 

my  soul  in  the  hour  of  trial,  like  these  days  of  toil-beat 
nerves  and  tear-worn  ee,  making  the  dreary  objects  seem 
larger  than  the  life.  Extreme  sensibility,  irritated  and 
prejudiced  on  the  gloomy  side  by  a  series  of  misfortunes 
and  disappointments  at  that  period  of  my  existence,  whan 
the  soul  be  laying  in  her  cargo  of  ideas  for  the  voyage  of 
life,  —  this  is,  I  believe,  the  chief  cause  of  my  unhappy 
gloom  of  mind,  melancholy  marking  me  for  her  ain. 
(Pause.) 

ROBERT:  One  light  breaks  through  the  gloom. 

GILBERT:  Thank  God  for  that,  though  I  dinna  know 
what. 

ROBERT:  Jean,  wha  is  sae  dear  to  me,  I  hae  joyously  met  in 
my  hidings,  smoothing  it  a'.  It  was  a  hasty  hazard  half- 
hour,  but  wi'  golden  minutes,  on  angel  wings,  flying  o'er 
us;  for  the  dear  girl  I  love  to  distraction. 

GILBERT:  And  thank  God  for  that,  too.  And  God  grant  ye 
back  frae  the  Indies  wi'  cash  to  happily  establish  ye. 

ROBERT  :  If  na  to  die  there  —  buried  there  —  all  forgetting 
—  all  forgot  —  trod  in  the  mire  and  out  of  sight ! 

GILBERT:  Na,  na,  na,  Robert.  Why  na  ye,  whan  sae  mony 
hae  won  there? 

ROBERT:  Ah!  Gilbert,  Gilbert,  never  was  I  a  knave,  but  hae 
been  a  fool  a'  my  life,  never  weighing  moves,  and,  despite 
a'  efforts,  now  plainly  see  I  never  shall  be  wise,  or  a 
gatherer  of  gear. 

GILBERT  :  Enough,  onyhow,  God  grant,  for  the  sweet  simple 
life,  wi'  real  wants  sae  few. 

ROBERT:  And  sae  few  to  cast  anchor  there. 

GILBERT:  Ay,  ay,  ranting  round  in  pleasure's  ring  and 
blinded. 

ROBERT  :  Wi'  here  and  there  a  random  sting,  but,  God  knows, 
little  minded. 
(Pause  —  Robert  Burns  buried  in  reflection.) 


ROBERT  BURNS  63 

ROBERT  :  How  long  hae  I  lived,  and  how  much  lived  in  vain ! 
(Pause.) 

GILBERT:  Muster  cheer,  Robert,  muster  cheer.  Crowned 
by  the  fame  your  grand  gifts  must  yet  bring,  shouldna 
anither  light,  Robert,  be  breaking? 

ROBERT:  Grand  gifts,  indeed! 

GILBERT:  Yes,  Robert,  grand  gifts.  Dinna  they  interpret 
the  depths  of  Scotland's  peasant  heart?  Mustna  these 
beautiful  sangs  and  pieces  yet  fill  Caledonia's  ear,  giving 
ye  a  name?  I  forecast  in  ye  the  Bard  of  Scotland,  and 
thrice  happy  that  Bard  should  be,  and  blest! 

ROBERT:  Grand  gifts,  indeed!  You  want,  Gilbert,  my  hair- 
brained  imagination,  my  social  and  amorous  madness, 
and  eternal  propensity  to  fall  in  love;  but  in  gifts  worth 
the  name,  in  good  sense  and  ilka  sober  qualification,  I 
hold  you  to  be  by  far  my  superior. 

GILBERT:  But  what,  again,  of  your  bardie  gifts?  The  bril- 
liant glimpses  ye  hae  given  must  yet  hae  a  perfect  day. 
See!  I  hae  brought  a  branchlet  of  holly  (taking  up  the 
holly  from  table)  to  crown  ye,  ere  ye  gang  awa',  the  Bard 
o'  Scotland! 

ROBERT  (intense  manner) :  Awa'  wi'  the  poet's  leaves!  Awa'! 
awa' !  awa' !  I  despair,  Gilbert,  of  ever  making  a  figure  in 
this  world.  I  am  no  formed  either  for  the  bustle  of  the 
busy  or  the  flutter  of  the  gay.  Into  such  scenes  never  again 
shall  I  be  capable  of  entering.  I  have  nursed  ambitions, 
but  they  are  vanishing.  To  all  aspiring  thoughts  of 
this  life  I  am  becoming  dead.  I  am  in  the  slough  o' 
despond,  want-stricken  and  desperate,  hunted  day  and 
night  by  the  myrmidons  o'  the  law,  and  ticketed  an  exile 
frae  my  native  land,  my  box  even  now,  as  ye  know,  being 
at  Greenock  for  shipment  to  Jamaica.  That  poverty  and 
obscurity  nae  doubt  await  me,  I  foresee.  Prospects  for 
me!  Na!  Na! 


64  ROBERT  BURNS 

—  Backward  I  cast  my  ee 

On  prospects  drear; 
And  forward,  though  I  canna  see, 

I  guess  and  fear. 

As  for  poesy,  half  mad,  half  fed,  half  clad,  by  the  Eternal 
I  am  ready  to  swear,  that  henceforth  I  will  be  rhyme- 
proof,  till  — 

GILBERT  (interrupting  with  great  energy):  Robert!  Robert! 
my  brither!  crush  that  rash,  infant  oath,  and  come!  tak' 
the  bed  ye  sairly  need. 

ROBERT  :  Nae  bed  till  midnight  and  the  Bailiff's  hour  gone. 
Peacock  may  get  instructions  frae  Pastor  Auld  that  per- 
haps he  has  been  tricked,  and  return.   I'll  nap  it  here  at 
my  seat.   Tak'  the  light  to  the  kitchen  and  keep  watch. 
(Exit  Gilbert  Burns  with  rush-light.) 

(Robert  Burns  falls  asleep  on  his  chair  with  head  resting  on 
arms  crossed  on  the  table.  His  bonnet  and  the  holly 
branchlet  lie  near  him  on  table.  In  the  darkened  room,  the 
Poet's  form  just  visible,  a  light  slowly  develops,  focused  on 
the  Bard.  Presently,  out  of  the  midst  of  it,  the  outlines  of  a 
weird  form  gradually  appear;  and  finally,  with  the  mystic 
hand  of  blessing  hovering  over  the  Bard's  head,  a  voice  is 

heard.) 

All  hail!  my  own  inspired  Bard! 

In  me  thy  native  Muse  regard; 
Nor  longer  mourn  thy  fate  is  hard, 

Thus  poorly  low! 
I  come  to  give  thee  such  reward 

As  we  bestow. 

Know,  the  great  genius  of  this  land 
Has  many  a  light  aerial  band, 
Who,  all  beneath  his  high  command, 

Harmoniously, 
As  arts  or  arms  they  understand, 

Their  labors  ply. 


ROBERT  BURNS  65 

They  Scotia's  race  among  them  share; 
Some  fire  the  soldier  on  to  dare; 
Some  rouse  the  patriot  up  to  bare 

Corruption's  heart; 
Some  teach  the  bard,  a  darling  care, 

The  tuneful  art. 

Some,  bounded  to  a  district-space, 
Explore  at  large  man's  infant  race, 
To  mark  the  embriotic  trace 

Of  rustic  bard, 
And  careful  note  each  opening  grace, 

A  guide,  a  guard. 

Of  these  am  I,  Coila  my  name, 

And  this  district  as  mine  I  claim. 

Where  once  the  Campbells,  chiefs  of  fame, 

Held  ruling  power, 
I  mark'd  thy  embryo-tuneful  flame, 

Thy  natal  hour. 

With  future  hope  I  oft  would  gaze, 
Fond,  on  thy  little  early  ways, 
Thy  rudely  caroll'd,  chiming  phrase, 

In  uncouth  rhymes, 
Fired  at  the  simple,  artless  lays 

Of  other  times. 

I  saw  thee  seek  the  sounding  shore, 
Delighted  with  the  dashing  roar; 
Or,  when  the  north  his  fleecy  store 

Drove  through  the  sky, 
I  saw  grim  nature's  visage  hoar 

Struck  thy  young  eye. 


66  ROBERT  BURNS 

Or,  when  the  deep  green-mantled  earth, 
Warm,  cherish'd  every  floweret's  birth, 
And  joy  and  music  pouring  forth 

In  every  grove, 
I  saw  thee  eye  the  general  mirth 

With  boundless  love. 

When  youthful  love,  warm,  blushing,  strong, 
Keen-shivering  shot  thy  nerves  along, 
Those  accents,  grateful  to  thy  tongue, 

Th'  adored  name, 
I  taught  thee  how  to  pour  in  song, 

To  soothe  thy  flame. 

I  taught  thy  manners  painting  strains, 
The  loves,  the  ways,  of  simple  swains, 
Till  now,  o'er  all  my  wide  domains 

Thy  fame  extends, 

And  some,  the  pride  of  Coila's  plains, 
Become  thy  friends. 

Thou  canst  not  learn,  nor  can  I  show, 
To  paint  with  Thomson's  landscape  glow; 
Or  wake  the  bosom-melting  throe, 

With  Shenstone's  art; 
Or  pour,  with  Gray,  the  moving  flow 

Warm  on  the  heart. 

Yet  all  beneath  the  unrivall'd  rose 

The  lowly  daisy  sweetly  blows. 

Though  large  the  forest's  monarch  throws 

His  army  shade, 
Yet  green  the  juicy  hawthorn  grows 

Adown  the  glade. 


ROBERT  BURNS  67 

Then  never  murmur  nor  repine, 
Strive  in  thy  humble  sphere  to  shine, 
And,  trust  me,  not  Potosi's  mine, 

Nor  king's  regard, 
Can  give  a  bliss  o'er  matching  thine  — 

A  Rustic  Bard. 

To  give  my  counsels  all  in  one : 
Thy  tuneful  flame  still  careful  fan  — 
Preserve  the  dignity  of  man, 

With  soul  erect  — 
And  trust  the  universal  plan 

Will  all  protect. 

(As  the  voice  ceases,  the  hand  lifts  the  holly  from  the  table  and 
binds  it  on  the  Bard's  head,  and  immediately  the  bright 
light  and  the  form  vanish.  At  the  same  instant  a  bustle  in  the 
kitchen  below  arouses  the  sleeper.  He  raises  his  head,  then 
stands  erect,  looks  around  in  a  dazed  condition,  and  ex- 
claims) 

ROBERT  (profoundly  stirred):  My  God!  What  a  vision  has 
passed!  What  a  wondrous  light!  What  glorious  words! 
What  (feels  holly  upon  his  head) !  !  The  holly  binding  my 
brow!  ! 

(He  pauses  —  then  looking  heavenward  with  arms  uplifted, 
in  a  transport  of  feeling  again  exclaims): 
Ye  Powers  celestial  and  Guardians  divine,  I  have  heard  a 
voice  !  !  •!  Thy  will  be  done  !  !  ! 

GILBERT  (rushing  in  with  a  light,  and  on  his  heels  a  press  of 
friends  from  below  stairs,  all  greatly  excited):  Here's  a 
letter,  Robert,  just  in  frae  Edinburgh.  The  bearer  says 
he  was  told  it's  important  and  must  be  delivered  at  once. 
Guid  news!  guid  news!  nae  doubt. 

(Robert  Burns  reads  letter  with  joyful  countenance  —  then 
breaks  out) : 


68  ROBERT  BURNS 

ROBERT:  Your  hand, my  Brither!  (Hands  wrung.}  A  kiss, my 
Brither!  (Salute  each  other.}  Your  arms,  my  Brither!  (They 
embrace.}  Verily,  Gilbert,  the  prospect  brightens.  Dr. 
Blacklock,  the  blind  poet,  now  resident  in  Edinburgh, 
here  writes  (extending  hand  with  letter}  to  a  friend  of 
mine,  advising  me  strongly  to  visit  the  Capital,  assuring  me 
of  a  warm  welcome  frae  the  wits  and  bloods  there,  and 
expressing  a  confident  opinion,  that  I  wad  hae  little  diffi- 
culty in  securing  by  subscriptions  to  a  new  and  profitable 
edition  of  my  poems.  In  verra  truth,  my  Brither,  the 
prospect  brightens.  As  I  slept  just  now  I  had  a  glorious 
vision,  a  peep  upon  my  after  road,  and  here  is  the  waking 
counter-part.  Heaven  be  praised !  Send,  Gilbert,  for  that 
chest  at  Greenock.  I'll  say  guid  night  and  guid  bye  to 
Mither  and  a',  and  by  the  red  cock's  craw,  before  the 
Bailiff's  hour,  shall  be  aff  afoot  for  Edinburgh. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  IV 


ACT  IV 

Scene:  Salon  of  the  Duchess  of  Gordon,  Edinburgh.  Evening. 
A  soiree\ 

The  reports  of  the  Ayrshire  Bard  that  had  preceded  his  arrival 
at  the  Capital,  had  stirred  all  ranks  of  society.  The  greatest 
curiosity  was  manifested  to  meet  him. 

The  salon  scene  is  brilliant  —  authors,  scholars,  church  digni- 
taries, men  of  affairs,  nobles  with  their  rank  insignia,  high- 
born ladies  in  jewels  and  plumes,  the  grandeur  of  Scotland, 
assembled  to  do  honor  to  the  Plowman  Bard. 
The  guests  move  about  among  themselves  in  animated  conver- 
sation and  expectant  air. 
In  front,  a  group  of  scholars  discuss  the  Bard. 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  The  Bard  tarries.  The  Duchess  of 
Gordon  has  assembled  here  a  brilliant  company,  to  do 
him  honor.  Why,  Dr.  Blair,  it's  nearly  an  hour  (investigat- 
ing watch)  past  his  appointed  arrival,  as  the  Duchess  in- 
forms me. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  Professor  Stewart  must  be  aware,  that  a 
social  lion  means  uncertain  hours.  He  cannot  be  expected 
to  be  as  punctual  as  the  Professor's  students.  Our  Bard 
is  fairly  in  the  swim.  To  have  Burns  at  the  festivities  of 
the  400  is  now  the  correct  thing.  At  one  of  these  they  may 
be  detaining  him. 

PROFESSOR  STEWART  :  The  interest  he  excites  appears  amaz- 
ing. The  greatest  curiosity  is  manifested  to  meet  him. 
Edinburgh  actually  is  in  a  state  of  excitement.  Dr.  Blair 
has  a  more  accurate  finger  on  the  social  pulse.  Am  I,  sir, 
exaggerating? 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  I  do  not  think  so.  He  is  reported  over- 
whelmed with  attentions.  I  understand,  Gentlemen,  that, 
to  secure  him,  it  is  necessary  to  bespeak  his  company  a 
week  in  advance. 


72  ROBERT  BURNS 

PROFESSOR  STEWART  :  As  a  friend  of  mine  expresses  it,  cards 
to  invite  fly  by  thousands  each  night. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  So  thick,  I  hear,  that  an  evening's  enter- 
tainment ofttimes  is  multiple  —  an  hour  here,  an  hour 
there,  an  hour  yonder. 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  And  covering,  in  too  many  instances, 
as  Dr.  Blair's  censorship  may  have  heard,  the  entire 
night. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  Yes  —  and  I  fear  some  of  these  enter- 
tainments do  not  forecast  well  for  the  Bard.  He  is  no 
enemy,  it  seems,  to  John  Barleycorn,  and,  in  pushing  the 
bottle,  is  said  to  be  ready  to  test  the  strength  of  the 
stoutest  Bacchus  among  us. 

DR.  ROBERTSON:  One  of  these  entertainments,  I  am  told,  is 
to  come  off  tonight.  That  is,  if  the  Bard  can  keep  all  his 
engagements.  He  takes  tea  this  evening  with  Sir  William 
Forbes  —  has  pledged  his  word  to  the  Duchess,  as  she 
tells  me,  to  be  here  for  half  hour  or  so  —  and  goes  hence 
to  attend  a  Ball  in  his  honor  by  the  Caledonian  Hunt. 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  What,  Dr.  Robertson,  is  this  other 
entertainment? 

DR.  ROBERTSON:  An  affair  of  the  Bachelors'  Club,  as  I 
hear. 

PROFESSOR  STEWART  :  A  wild,  revelling  set  —  seasoned  fel- 
lows at  pushing  the  bottle,  or  gathering  round  the  bowl. 

DR.  ROBERTSON:  He  has  met  the  Club  before,  and  a  member 
informed  me  took  them  absolutely  off  their  feet  by  his 
splendid  flashes.  They  have  arranged,  I  believe,  to  point 
the  present  affair  by  rendering  some  of  his  convivial  songs. 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  I  can  well  believe  the  report,  that  the 
Bard's  wild  humor,  and  brilliant,  daring  wit,  make  him 
the  idol  on  these  festive  occasions. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  And  I  feel  bound,  Gentlemen,  to  repeat 
my  fear  that,  should  he  get  thick  with  these  fellows,  they 


ROBERT  BURNS  73 

may  succeed  in  embarking  him  on  a  tide  of  dissipation. 
The  Club's  reputation  is  notorious. 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  It  may  be  this  Club  affair  that  is  de- 
taining him. 

DR.  ROBERTSON:  Perhaps  so.    I  don't  know  whether  he  is 
to  meet  the  Club  before  or  after  his  visit  here. 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  They  may  be  detaining  him  at  Sir 
William  Forbes'.  The  Banker  is  a  charming  host,  and  not 
an  —  (Sounds,  as  of  persons  approaching,  are  heard  outside 
the  door.  Conversation  interrupted,  and  all  turn  expectant 
toward  the  door.) 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  There  he  is! 
(Enter  usher.) 

USHER  (announcing  guests):  Miss  Burnett,  and  the  Earl  of 
Monboddo. 
(Enter  guests  —  exit  usher.) 

MR.  ERSKINE  :  My  Reverend  friend  (turning  to  Dr.  Blair,  the 
popular  Edinburgh  preacher)  is  not  a  safe  guesser  —  at 
least  for  these  lower  regions.  He  appears  better  in  fore- 
casting the  futures  of  saints  and  sinners. 

GROUP:  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

MR.  ERSKINE  :  Well,  Gentlemen  —  to  take  up  our  thread  — 
should  the  Bard  unhappily  become  an  enemy  to  himself, 
already  has  he  done  enough  to  charm  and  instruct  others. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  Alas!  Mr.  Erskine,  the  hapless  fate  of  too 
many  of  the  great  ones  of  earth. 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  There  is  one  danger,  Gentlemen,  an- 
tecedently highly  probable,  which  our  Bard  has  escaped. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  What's  that? 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  The  danger  of  losing  his  head  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  lionizing. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  Strange,  most  strange  indeed,  how  he 
stands  it!  In  a  dazzling  blaze  of  favor,  escorting  jeweled 
dames  over  scented  carpets  to  banquet-halls  and  tables 


74  ROBERT  BURNS 

loaded  with  gold  and  silver,  it  is  a  marvel,  how  this  young 
ploughman  from  Ayrshire  deports  himself.  His  bearing 
far  surpasses  all  expectations. 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  Gentlemen,  Gentlemen,  I  regard  the 
circumstances  of  the  advent  of  Burns  among  the  sages  and 
nobles  of  Edinburgh  as  being  one  of  the  most  singular 
phenomena  in  modern  literature. 

MR.  ALLISON:  Yes,  the  wits  and  bloods  of  the  Capital  looked 
to  see  a  green  peasant  rhmyster  from  the  country-side, 
gifted  by  nature,  as  his  verses  show,  but  whose  rustic 
ways  and  abashed  address  in  the  novel,  untried  presence 
of  the  beau  monde  would  afford  amusement. 

GROUP:  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR  :  A  notion  generally  entertained,  Mr.  Allison. 

MR.  ALLISON:  Instead,  what  do  we  find?  Verily,  one  who 
is  "  a  man  for  a'  that,"  a  marvel  indeed  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, cool  and  undazzled  amidst  the  brilliant  lights 
of  the  Capital,  his  air  totally  devoid  of  embarrassment,  his 
address  manly  and  independent,  perfectly  well-bred,  ele- 
gant in  its  simplicity,  and  winning  in  the  free,  unfettered, 
native  play  of  the  emotions. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  In  truth,  Gentlemen,  I  regard  Robert 
Burns  as  giving  an  earnest  of  being  rated  the  most  re- 
markable man  of  the  age  —  a  noble  of  original  patent  — 
with  ease  and  unchallenged  authority  holding  title  direct 
from  nature  —  and  checking  any  insolence  of  conde- 
scension. 

MR.  ALLISON:  For  that  matter,  indeed,  a  glance  from  the 
Bard's  flashing  eyes  alone  would  suffice  to  check  such 
insolence. 

DR.  ROBERTSON:  True,  very  true.  Of  course,  Gentlemen, 
you  must  have  noticed  his  eye,  his  fine  dark  eye,  full  of 
ardor  and  intelligence.  Never  have  I  seen  its  like  in  the 
head  of  any  other  human  being.  It  is  the  capital  index 


ROBERT  BURNS  75 

of  his  genius,  and  fairly  glows.  I  know  of  no  other  word 
to  express  it.  When  the  Poet  is  aroused,  his  eye  literally 
glows,  an  orb  of  fire! 

PROFESSOR  STEWART  :  Ah !  Gentlemen,  if  — 

(Sounds  outside,  as  of  parties  approaching  the  door,  again 
heard.  Conversation  interrupted.  All  eyes  toward  door.) 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  There  he  is  now  no  doubt!   He  is  over-due 
in  filling  here  a  distinguished  engagement. 
(Enter  usher.) 

USHER  (announcing  guest):  The  venerable  and  venerated 
Adam  Fergusson. 

MR.  ERSKINE:  My  comment,  Gentlemen,  on  the  incident,  is: 
A  mighty  good  guest,  but  a  mighty  bad  guesser. 

GROUP:  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

MR.  ERSKINE  :  Blessing,  not  guessing,  evidently  is  our  Rev- 
erend friend's  role. 

GROUP:  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  Well,  Gentlemen,  while  the  Bard 
keeps  us  expecting  him,  we  may  go  on  dissecting  him. 

GROUP:  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

PROFESSOR  STEWART  :  Appreciatively,  I  mean  —  brain  and 
heart  being  special  points  of  observation.  —  I  was  about 
to  remark  just  now,  that  if  the  Poet  carried  no  other  ar- 
rows in  his  quiver,  a  flash  from  his  tongue  would  suffice 
to  wither  any  airs  of  condescension  approaching  him. 

MR.  ALLISON  :  I  can  recall  very  vividly  some  instances.  Upon 
the  demands  of  occasion  his  tongue  becomes  a  wonder- 
fully keen  weapon. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  As  to  that,  Gentlemen,  in  every  field  of  ex- 
ercise the  Bard's  tongue  is  a  tongue  indeed.  His  mind 
lifts  and  illuminates  all  it  touches.  On  themes  within  his 
range  his  brilliancy  of  fancy,  glow  of  sentiment,  richness 
of  thought,  and  strength  and  vehemence  of  expression, 
make  you  grand  scholars  second  fiddlers 


76  ROBERT  BURNS 

GROUP:  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

MR.  ERSKINE  :  If  Dr.  Blair  will  allow,  there  is  a  parallel  here 
with  the  "Child  in  the  Temple,  sitting  in  the  midst  of  the 
Doctors,"  and  astonishing  all  by  his  understanding  and 
answers. 

GROUP:  Hear!  Hear! 

DR.  ROBERTSON:  His  conversation  truly  is  powerful,  more 
remarkable,  in  my  view,  even  than  his  poems. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  Never  have  I  witnessed  in  any  one  a  more 
rapid  and  distinct  apprehension,  greater  fluency  of  speech, 
or  strength  and  brilliancy  of  expression. 

MR.  ALLISON:  The  attractions  of  his  conversation  certainly 
are  extraordinary;  and  the  sorcery,  I  am  told,  is  com- 
plete on  festive  occasions,  when  the  Bard  allows  a  free 
rein,  the  roar  and  the  tear  being  equally  at  his  bidding. 

MR.  ERSKINE:  I  am  unable  to  speak  of  his  colloquial 
powers,  having  been  but  once  and  for  a  few  moments  in 
his  company,  but,  regarding  his  poetical  productions  as  a 
whole,  certes  I  can  add  my  suffrage  touching  their  ex- 
traordinary merit. 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  A  notable  feature  is  the  wonderful 
hold  they  have  upon  all  classes.  I  was  down  in  Ayrshire 
recently,  few  days  after  the  appearance  of  the  Kilmarnock 
edition.  It  was  a  revelation  to  the  lowlands  of  Scotland. 
Everybody,  from  cot-house  to  castle,  was  reading,  re- 
peating, singing,  laughing  over,  the  verses.  I  have  been 
analyzing  this  hold  with  the  view  of  discovering  the  se- 
cret supporting  it. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  And  with  what  result? 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  I  find  it  in  the  — 

(Sounds  ouside,  as  of  persons  approaching  door  again, 
heard.  Conversation  interrupted,  and  all  turn  toward  the 
door.) 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  I'll  lay  a  wager  we  have  the  Bard  this  time! 


ROBERT  BURNS  77 

MR.  ERSKINE:  At  what  figure,  Dr.  Blair? 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  Why,  sir,  a  sovereign  for  the  poor  box  this 
Sabbath. 

MR.  ERSKINE:  Agreed,  sir. 
(Enter  usher.) 

USHER  (announcing  guest):  Dr.  John  Moore,  the  distin- 
guished author  of  "  Zeluco." 

GROUP:  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

(Enter  guest  —  exit  usher.) 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  Ah!  Dr.  Blair,  the  poor  box  will  greet 
you  with  "  a  smile  that  won't  come  off." 

GROUP:  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  Well,  Gentlemen,  I  suppose  I  can  stand 
it.  You  won't  have  to  pass  the  hat  round. 

GROUP:  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR  :  I  am  on  a  sharp  lookout  —  aglow  with  the 
personality  of  our  subject.  You  see  my  interest  in  the 
Poet  Burns. 

GROUP:  Ha!  ha!  ha!   (At  the  word-play.) 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  As  to  Dr.  Blair's  question — to  take 
up  the  oft-severed  thread  —  I  regard  the  general  charac- 
ter of  the  Poet's  hold  as  being  due  to  the  genuineness,  the 
sincerity,  and  so  the  naturalness,  of  his  compositions. 
There  is  an  absolute  absence  of  the  artificial.  He  repre- 
sents nature,  in  all  her  variant  moods,  with  the  precision 
of  intimacy. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  Another  factor,  undoubtedly,  is  the  na- 
tional cast  of  his  writings.  Our  literature  is  deficient  in 
this  attribute  of  nationality.  We  have  stores  of  high 
grade  works,  but  too  few  with  a  national  spirit. 

MR.  ALLISON:  True,  quite  true.  Burns  is  an  enthusiast  for 
all  that  concerns  the  glory  of  Scotland,  and  supplies  a 
native  want;  and  had  he  entered  the  field  of  letters  with 
his  eminent  powers  trained  and  polished  by  a  university 


78  ROBERT  BURNS 

education,  he  might,  in  my  judgment,  have  changed  the 
entire  course  of  our  literature. 

MB.  ERSKINE  :  It  may  not  be  too  late  to  risk  the  prediction. 
The  final  outcome  of  the  Bard's  powers  has  not  at  this 
hour  become  manifest.  Burns  now  looms  a  great  genius 
with  a  possibility  —  shall  I  say  probability?  —  of  rank- 
ing even  with  the  greatest.  His  poems  give  but  broken 
glimpses  of  what  he  is ;  and  to  pretend  to  limit  —  there, 
Dr.  Blair!  (Interrupting  outside  sounds  heard,  as  of  per- 
sons approaching  the  door)  Will  you  wager  again? 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  Yes,  sir,  and  for  the  poor  box,  too  —  but 
this  time  on  the  negative  side. 

MR.  ERSKINE:  Very  well,  sir,  —  Done! 
(Enter  usher.) 

USHER  (announcing  guests):  The  Earl  of  Glencairn,  accom- 
panied by  the  Poet,  Mr.  Robert  Burns. 

GROUP  (turning  toward  Dr.  Blair):  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

PROFESSOR  STEWART  :  Be  comforted,  Dr.  Blair,  be  com- 
forted. We  shall  not  forget  the  hat. 

GROUP:  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

(Enter  guests  —  exit  usher.) 

(Robert  Burns  is  seen  a  young  man  above  the  average  height, 
of  fine  well-knit  figure,  and  with  slight  plowman's  stoop. 
His  countenance  is  full,  strong,  and  of  uncommon  interest. 
The  black,  curly  hair  is  tied  behind  and  spread  in  front  upon 
the  well-raised  forehead.  His  plaid  is  a  handsome  red  and 
white  check  of  fine  wool.  He  wears  boots  and  buckskin 
breeches,  and  generally  is  dressed  as  a  well-to-do  farmer 
ready  to  dine  with  the  laird.  The  company  is  in  a  state  of 
excitement  —  the  air  electrified  —  the  Poet  a  moving  centre 
of  most  spirited  conversation,  interspersed  with  spontaneous 
smile,  laughter,  applause.) 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  My  Lord  (to  the  Earl  of  Glencairn),  I 
am  happy  to  meet  you;  and  you  likewise,  Mr.  Burns 


ROBERT  BURNS  79 

(turning  to  the  Poet).  I  regret  the  Duke's  unexpected  de- 
tention in  the  Highlands  prevents  his  sharing  with  me  the 
honor  of  your  company. 

POET  (his  manner  toward  ladies  being  especially  deferential, 
while  easy  and  self-possessed):  He  is  to  be  accounted 
fortunate,  Madam,  in  having  so  admirable  a  representa- 
tive, and  my  Lord,  I  am  sure  (turning  to  the  Earl  of  Glen- 
cairn)  ,  joins  me  in  the  sentiment. 
(The  Earl  bows  assent.) 

LADY  GORDON:  Ah,  sir,  ever  ready,  as  your  poems  happily 
show,  to  applaud  the  ladies,  or  the  lassies,  as  you  write 
them. 

POET  :  In  no  other  sphere,  Madam,  could  my  pen  so  fitly  rave. 
What  signifies  the  life  of  man,  if  'twerena  for  the  lassies,  O? 
(Hearty  laughter.) 

DUCHESS:  The  lassies  charm  you,  sir,  into  being  pre-em- 
inently the  first  of  love  poets. 

POET:  And  certes,  Madam,  have  I  not  ample  warrant?  The 
wisest  man  the  world  e'er  saw,  he  dearly  loved  the  lassies, 
O! 
(Burst  of  laughter.) 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  Our  sex,  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Burns,  is 
deeply  indebted  to  you.  I  am  fain  to  enlarge  upon  the 
sentiment  and  declare,  that  no  other  poet  has  sung,  so 
fully  and  so  fitly,  the  woman,  her  joys  and  her  sorrows. 

POET:  A  simple  recognition,  Madam,  as  by  truth  and  duty 
bound,  of  the  flower  of  creation.  As  between  the  sexes 
old  nature  herself  instructs  me: 

Her  'prentice  hand  she  tried  on  man, 
And  then  she  made  the  lassies,  O! 

(Hearty  laughter.) 

(Those  of  the  company  who  before  had  met  the  Poet,  gather 

about  him,  to  greet  him  —  covering  some  minutes.) 


80  ROBERT  BURNS 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON  (draining  near  with  a  lady) :  Allow  me, 
Mr.  Burns,  to  make  known  to  you  Miss  Burnett,  of 
Monboddo,  whose  wit  is  equal  to  her  personal  charms. 

POET:  Then  must  it  be  of  the  rarest  quality  (the  Poet's 
eye  kindling,  as  he  bows  and  measures  the  fine  figure  and 
beautiful  countenance  before  him). 

Miss  BURNETT:  I  am  delighted,  sir,  to  meet  Scotland's 
representative  Poet.  (Bow  from  the  Bard.)  The  harp  of  the 
North  has  not  been  swept  before  by  a  hand  so  fine  and 
varied.  (Bow  from  the  Bard.) 

POET:  The  title  of  "  Scotland's  Poet,"  Miss  Burnett,  would 
be  my  greatest  pride;  to  deserve  it,  my  utmost  ambition. 
Scottish  scenes  and  Scottish  story  are  the  themes  I  could 
wish  to  sing.  I  have  no  dearer  aim,  than  to  have  it  in  my 
power,  unplagued  with  the  routine  of  business  (for  which, 
Heaven  knows,  I  am  unfit  enough),  to  make  leisurely 
pilgrimages  through  Caledonia  —  to  stand  on  the  fields 
of  her  battles  and  meditate — to  wander  on  the  romantic 
banks  of  her  rivers  —  and  to  muse  on  the  stately  towers, 
or  venerable  ruins,  once  the  honored  homes  of  her 
heroes. 

Miss  BURNETT:  Others,  sir,  are  pressing  for  your  acquaint- 
ance. Let  me  have  your  ear  long  enough  to  express  the 
hope  that  your  engagements  will  allow  you  to  take  tea 
with  us  tomorrow  evening. 

POET:  An  accepted  invitation  elsewhere  denies  me  that 
pleasure. 

Miss  BURNETT  :  The  next  evening  then,  sir. 

POET:  That  pleasure,  Miss  Burnett,  is  still  denied  me.  A 
week  hence,  if  plans  mature,  I  am  off  for  a  jaunt  through 
North  Scotland  and  up  to  that  date  my  social  hours  are 
bespoken.  Even  in  such  a  presence  as  this  my  stay,  of 
necessity,  has  to  be  narrowed.  The  civilities  of  your  city 
both  astonish  and  delight  me. 


ROBERT  BURNS  81 

My  breakfasts,  dinings,  teas,  and  a' 

Edina  sets  in  style  fu'  braw, 

And  tributes  from  both  heart  and  craw 

I,  present,  render; 
And  absent,  while  life's  breath  I  draw, 

For  aye  shall  send  her. 

(Ringing  applause.) 
Miss  BURNETT:  To  spread  her  tables,  sir,  is  the  least  Edina 

could  do. 
POET:  That  she  has  done  so  most  handsomely,  be  assured  — 

even  without  a  haggis. 

(Laughter.) 
POET:  I  confess  a  discourtesy. 

Sir  Haggis  should  the  title  be, 

For  great  chieftain  of  the  puddin'  race  is  he. 

Aboon  them  a'  he  taks  his  place, 

The  cot-house  brag, 
Weel  worthy  of  a  dinner  grace 

As  lang's  my  leg. 

(Burst  of  applause.) 
EARL  OF  GLENCAIRN  (introducing  Lord  Monboddo) :  My  Lord 

Monboddo,  allow  me,  my  friend  Robert  Burns. 

(Greetings  —  covering  minute  or  more.) 
EARL  OF  GLENCAIRN  (to  Poet) :  Lord  Monboddo  is  the  father 

of  Miss  Burnett,  whom  you  have  just  met. 
POET  (to  Lord  Monboddo) :  My  pleasure,  truly.   In  grace  and 

beauty  what  has  appeared  nearly  like  her,  sir,  since  Mil- 
ton's Eve  on  the  day  of  her  creation? 
LORD  MONBODDO:  Let  goodness  crown  that  combination. 
POET:  Then  must  I  name  her  the  heavenly  Burnett. 

(Miss  Burnett,  in  the  press,  overhears.   Demonstration  about 

her.) 


82  ROBERT  BURNS 

EARL  OF  GLENCAIRN  (to  Poet) :  Lord  Monboddo  has  en- 
larged with  me  on  "  The  Jolly  Beggars." 

LORD  MONBODDO:  Understand  me,  Mr.  Burns.  I  do  not  say 
that,  in  itself,  it  is  the  most  finished,  the  most  striking, 
the  most  beautiful  —  but  that  it  is  the  most  predicting 
of  your  pieces. 

PROFESSOR  STEWART:  Yet  it  can  give  a  very  good  account 
of  itself.  I  am  charmed  with  the  variety  and  richness  of 
the  fancy. 

LORD  MONBODDO:  True,  very  true,  and  it  is  these  charac- 
teristics that,  in  my  view,  are  predicting.  Have  you  never, 
sir,  given  serious  thought  to  more  advanced  dramatic 
composition? 

POET:  Some  glances  in  that  direction. 

LORD  MONBODDO :  "The   Jolly    Beggars,"    I    think,    point 
clearly  to  that  field  as  singularly  appropriate  to  your 
genius. 
(Bow  from  Bard.) 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  These  musical  dramas,  it  is  said,  are  now 
the  London  rage. 

MR.  ERSKINE:  Stuff,  too,  they  are  —  none  of  poetical  merit 
worth  the  name,  since  Sheridan's  "  Duenna."   Simply 
vehicles  for  music  and  pageantry  —  and  a  special  open- 
ing offers,  Mr.  Burns,  to  your  remarkable  gifts. 
(Bow  from  Bard.) 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON  (in  smiles) :  I  am  opposed  to  these 
gentlemen's  monopoly  of  comedy  contributions,  and  offer 
my  share  in  expressing  unlimited  confidence,  that  your 
rare  abilities,  Mr.  Burns,  could  produce  a  comic  opera 
deserving  salute  alike  from  Apollo  and  from  the  Muses, 
and  withal  worth  a  fortune. 
(Bow  from  Bard.) 

POET:  Comedy  attempted,  Madam,  very  likely  would  be 
tragedy  accomplished. 
(Laughter.) 


ROBERT  BURNS  83 

MB.  ALLISON:  For  brilliant  results  let  "  The  Jolly  Beggars  " 
stand  as  the  lively  infant  pledge. 

Miss  BURNETT:  On  the  spot  I  claim  the  naming:  "The 
Comedy  of  the  Salon." 

POET:  And  on  the  spot  I  name  the  star.  (Smiling  and  bow- 
ing to  Miss  Burnett.) 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  And  divorces  becoming  too  common,  you 
might,  Mr.  Burns,  pro  bono  publico,  bring  out  some  offset 
for  wilted  wives. 

POET:  Very  well,  Dr.  Blair.  If  it  be  that  these  divorcing 
husbands  are  sighing  for  old-time  home  expression  of 
freshness  and  beauty,  there  occurs  to  me,  on  the  spot,  a 
compensation  for  fading  wives. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  What,  sir? 

POET:  Blooming  children. 
(Burst  of  laughter.) 

DUCHESS  OF  GLENCAIRN:  And    as    "The   Comedy   of   the 
Salon,"  I  salute  the  piece  historically,  for  being,  in  its 
origin,  the  means  of  transmitting,  with  eclat,  my  name 
and  house  to  posterity. 
(Applause,  and  cries  of  "  hear  I  "   "  hear  "I 

POET  :  You  ladies  and  gentlemen,  so  happily  planning  for  me, 
are  not  to  forget  external  impedimenta.  I  am  told  that 
interest  and  manoeuvring  generally  become  necessary  to 
launch  a  drama  upon  the  London  "  boards." 

MR.  ERSKINE:  So  it  may  be  with  the  namby-pamby  tribe 
of  flowery  scriblers;  but  (to  take  up  the  matter  in  all 
seriousness)  were  you,  Mr.  Burns,  to  write  Mr.  Sheridan 
himself,  who  now  controls  Drury  Lane,  inclosing  a  dram- 
atic sketch,  I  am  persuaded  he  would,  for  the  honor  of 
genius,  give  you  a  fair  and  candid  trial. 

DUCHESS  OF  GLENCAIRN:  And  a  trial  producing  a  rival  of 
"  The  Rivals." 


84  ROBERT  BURNS 

Miss  BURNETT  :  Or   its    brilliant    twin,    "  The    School    for 
Scandal." 
(Laughter  and  applause.) 

MR.  ERSKINE  (to  Poet) :  The  Elegy,  sir,  on  Captain  Matthew 
Henderson  very  much  impresses  me. 

POET:  Ah!  Mr.  Erskine,  I  see  a  sameness  of  situation.  I  am 
told  you  are  boiling,  yet  by  God's  grace  still  living  and 
lively,  boiling,  sir,  in  the  political  cauldron  —  My  Lord 
(turning  to  the  Earl  of  Glencairri),  yourself  is  my  inform- 
ant. (The  Earl  bows  assent.)  Well,  my  dear  sir  (to  Mr. 
Erskine),  as  apropos  of  politicians,  please  allow  me  to  say, 
that,  on  completion  of  that  Elegy,  I  sent  the  piece  to  a 
friend  who  himself  had  been  boiling  in  the  cauldron,  with 
a  note  to  this  effect :  Now,  my  friend,  since  —  for  the 
nonce  at  least  —  you  have  cut  the  sirens  of  flattery,  the 
harpies  of  corruption,  and  the  furies  of  ambition,  those 
fell  deities,  that,  on  all  sides  and  in  all  parties,  preside 
over  the  business  of  politics  — 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR  (to  the  Poet):  A  moment's  interruption,  sir, 
may  it  please  you,  to  remind  my  friend  Erskine,  of  the 
political  cauldron,  that,  having  wagered  on  the  Poet  and 
won,  the  latter,  very  naturally,  is  now  returning  him 
thanks. 
(Great  laughter.) 

MR.  ERSKINE:  And  honors  being  now  easy  between  Dr. 
Blair  and  myself,  my  hat  contributions,  very  naturally, 
should  cease. 
(Renewed  laughter.) 

POET  :  You  gentlemen  have  introduced  some  gambling  affair, 
about  which  happily  I  am  ignorant,  and,  even  if  disposed 
to  be  merry  over  a  gamble,  am  unable,  very  naturally,  to 
be  a  party  to  the  fun. 
(Renewed  laughter.) 


ROBERT  BURNS  85 

EARL  OF  GLENCAIRN  (introducing) :  Dr.  Moore,  this  is  my 
countryman,  my  shireman,  my  neighbor-man,  and  my 
friend,  Robert  Burns. 
(Greetings,  supposed  to  cover  severed  minutes.) 

POET  :  Let  me  thank  you,  and  again  thank  you,  Dr.  Moore, 
for  the  honor  done  me,  hi  sending  your  book  "  Zeluco," 
and  indeed  furthermore  for  the  letter  accompanying. 

DR.  MOORE:  A  trifle,  to  beguile  your  leisure. 

POET  :  Verily,  sir,  I  must  dissent.  In  common  with  the  world 
I  am  highly  pleased  with  the  Story;  but  to  regard  the 
sending  as  a  mark  of  the  author's  esteem,  is  a  superior 
gratification.  Again  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  book  and  for 
letter. 

DR.  MOORE  (smiling) :  I  am  yet  to  thank  the  Poet  for  the 
reply. 

POET  :  But,  my  dear  sir,  you  imposed  such  a  task,  an  expres- 
sion of  opinion.  I  must  needs  consider,  and  reply  halted 
between  purpose  and  resolve. 

DR.  MOORE:  I  withdraw  any  thought  of  challenge. 

POET:  My  dear  Dr.  Moore,  I  am  no  graduate  in  criticism, 
I  assure  you.  I  know  only  what  pleases  me,  often  without 
being  able  to  tell  why. 

DR.  MOORE:  A  fundamental  test,  warm  and  simple,  and  far 
safer,  in  my  judgment,  than  the  frigid  formal  rules  of 
mere  scholarship. 

POET:  By  that  test  —  my  own  —  I  am  glad  to  say,  that 
"  Zeluco  "  has  been  read,  and  again  read,  the  minutes 
"  winging  their  way  wi'  pleasure."  You  remind  me  of 
Fielding.  Original  strokes  that  strongly  depict  — 
(The  Poet  is  interrupted  by  the  Duchess,  especially  de- 
sirous to  introduce  "  Mrs.  Dunlop  of  Dunlop,"  who  has  just 
been  received.) 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON  (graciously  addressing  the  Poet  and  Dr. 
Moore):  Social  urgency  must  needs  break  in  upon  you 


86  ROBERT  BURNS 

gentlemen.   Since  Mr.  Burns'  further  engagements  this 

evening  limit  his  stay  here,  and  because  he  has  many  yet 

to  meet,  I  have  decreed,  in  a  role  of  a  king  of  the  Medes 

and  Persians,  to  limit  his  holdings.   Despotic  ruling,  Mr. 

Burns,  isn't  it? 
POET:  The  despot's  rule,  Madam,  is  blest,  when  the  despot 

is  perfect. 

(Applause.) 
POET  :  A  figure,  then,  of  God  himself,  who  thence  is  justified 

Despot  Supreme. 

(Renewed  applause.) 
DR.  MOORE:  True,  Madam.   These  individual  monopolies 

should  be  short  —  short  as  a  hungry  grace  before  meat. 

What  wish  would  your  Grace  prefer? 
DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  A    moment's    interruption    for    an 

introduction. 
DR.  MOORE:  Unanimously  carried,  Madam. 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON  (introducing  Mrs.  Dunlop) :  Mr.  Burns, 
Mrs.  Dunlop. 
(Greetings,  supposed  to  cover  minute  or  more.) 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  It  is  not  the  least  of  Mrs.  Dunlop 's 
attractions,  Mr.  Burns,  that,  by  lineal  descent,  she  holds 
in  her  veins  the  blood  of  Wallace. 

(The  Poet,  taking  a  step  backward  and  balancing  the  body 
in  the  startled  attitude  of  one  confronted  suddenly  by  an  ob- 
ject of  absorbing  interest,  for  a  moment,  fixes  upon  Mrs. 
Dunlop,  a  glowing  gaze.) 

POET  (with  greatest  animation):  Pray,  Madam,  pardon  my 
manner.  You  call  up  an  illustrious  presence  wont  to  hang 
very  near  my  heart: 

At  Wallace's  name  what  Scottish  blood 
But  boils  up  in  a  spring-tide  flood! 
(Vehemence  rouses  applause.) 


ROBERT  BURNS  87 

POET  :  You  could  not,  Mrs.  Dunlop,  have  touched  my  patriot 
heartcord  more  stirringly,  than  by  naming  the  great 
Wallace,  my  glorious  countryman,  and  your  immortal 
ancestor.  From  my  youth  has  he  not  been  with  me?  One 
of  the  few  books  of  my  boyish  days  was  "  The  History  of 
Sir  William  Wallace,"  and  many  are  the  hours,  when, 
after  daily  labor,  I  have  stolen  out  to  shed  a  tear  over  his 
glorious,  but  unfortunate  story. 

DR.  MOORE:  Hero  men  those  days,  sir. 

POET:  And  the  spirit  of  the  hero-patriot  is  not  lacking  in 
ours,  Dr.  Moore. 

DR.  MOORE:  I  did  not  intend  such  an  inference. 

POET:  Yes  —  way  down  in  the  ranks  may  be,  true  as  tem- 
pered steel  is  he,  awaiting  hero  opportunity. 
(Applause.) 

POET:  There  he  is!   I  see  him  now  at  the  cot-house  on  leave: 

Just  bring  this  Scotsman  frae  his  hill. 
Clap  in  his  cheek  a  Highland  gill. 
Say,  such  is  royal  George's  will, 

And  there's  the  foe; 
He  has  nae  thought  but  how  to  kill 

Twa  at  a  blow. 

(Greed  applause.) 

Nae  cold,  faint-hearted,  doublings  tease  him. 
Death  comes.   Wi'  fearless  eye  he  sees  him; 
Wi'  bluidy  hand  a  welcome  gies  him; 

And,  when  he  fa's, 
His  latest  draught  o'  breathin'  leaves  him 

In  faint  huzzas! 

(Spoken  with  fiery  energy  —  resounding  burst  of  applause.) 
(Pause.) 


88  ROBERT  BURNS 

POET:  I  am  tempted,  Mrs.  Dunlop,  to  repeat  the  Bannock- 
burn  lines. 

MRS.  DUNLOP:  Then,  sir,  you  would  repeat  the  first  of 
heroic  odes. 
(Bow  from  Bard.) 

MR.  ERSKINE:  Glorious  —  thrilling  —  and  deserving  to  be 
sung  by  the  throat  of  the  whirlwind. 
(Applause.   As  it  ceases,  from  a  curtained  gallery  at  one 
end  of  the  salon  come  the  tones  of  a  harp.    The  fingers,  in 
prelude,  stray  a  moment  among  the  strings  —  then  sweep 
the  sounding  chords,  supporting  a  glowing  voice.) 
VOICE: 

Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
Scots,  whom  Bruce  has  often  led, 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 
Or  to  victory! 

Now's  the  day,  and  now's  the  hour, 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lour, 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power  — 
Chains  and  slavery! 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  nave? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave? 
Let  him  turn  and  flee! 

Wha,  for  Scotland's  king  and  law, 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw, 
Freemen  stand,  or  freemen  fa', 
Let  him  follow  me! 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains  — 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains  — 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 
But  they  shall  be  free! 


ROBERT  BURNS  89 

(The  inspiring  words,  appealing  with  such  power  to  Scot- 
land's heart,  the  charm  of  the  voice,  the  author's  presence  and 
singular  personal  attraction  —  all  combine  to  throw  a  com- 
pany, already  overflowing  with  enthusiasm,  almost  into  an 
ecstasy.  With  the  first  stanza  a  demonstration  is  threatened. 
With  each  succeeding  one  the  impulse  grows  —  with  the  last 
irresistibly  bursting  forth,  the  company  joining  the  singer 
in  impassioned  tones,  and  with  tremendous  effect). 

Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low! 
Tyrants  fall  in  ev'ry  foe! 
Liberty's  in  ev'ry  blow! 
Let  us  do  or  dee! 

(Wild  scene  follows  —  a  rush  upon  the  Poet,  with  embraces, 
tears,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  —  covering  five  or  more  minutes.) 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON  (pointing  to  Poet's  lapel,  where  roses 
had  been  pinned):  They  have  despoiled  your  coat,  sir, 
for  salon  souvenirs. 

POET  :  The  flower  perishes,  like  "  the  grass  of  the  field,  which 
today  is,  and  tomorrow  is  cast  into  the  oven."  For  my- 
self, the  souvenir  is  this  demonstration  as  a  whole  —  over- 
whelming, Madam  —  to  be  kept  enshrined  and  vivid  in 
the  memory,  for  ever;  and  in  its  centre  that  voice,  so 
sweet,  and,  by  twinship,  dear,  there  being  but  one  other 
voice  like  it,  and  that  very  near  to  me. 
(The  company,  pressing  about  the  Poet,  become  interested 
in  the  voice,  and  expectant.) 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  The  singer  is  a  lassie,  her  person 
matching  the  voice  —  sweet,  to  use  one  of  your  expres- 
sions, as  the  dewy  milk-white  thorn. 

POET:  May  I  meet  her? 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  At  the  proper  moment.  She  is  here 
by  special  invitation,  and  chosen  as  artist  for  the  occasion. 

POET:  Is  she  to  appear  again? 


90  ROBERT  BURNS 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  In  one  of  your  songs,  the  most  beauti- 
ful among  your  beautiful  lyrics,  where  you  single  out 
one  to  exalt,  breathing  the  true  spirit  of  poetry,  and 
which,  like  the  music,  will  last  for  ever. 

POET:  And  that,  your  Grace? 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  Your  verses  on  "  Highland  Mary." 

Miss  BURNETT:  Most  enchantingly  sweet  and  pathetic. 

MR.  ERSKINE  :  Another  glorious  lyric  —  as  high  in  the 
tender  order,  as  Bannockburn  in  the  heroic. 

REV.  DR.  BLAIR:  So  rich  in  word  selection,  such  grace,  such 
music,  in  word  succession,  such  wealth  of  love  expression, 
a  gem,  sir,  worthy  a  presentation  to  Apollo  himself. 
(Bow  from  Bard.) 

(With  the  Poet's  bow  Lady  Gordon  gives  a  sign,  and  from 
the  gallery  the  voice  is  heard  in  subdued,  chastened  strain  of 
melody) : 

VOICE: 

Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 

The  castle  o'  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  woods,  and  fair  your  flowers, 

Your  waters  never  drumlie. 
There  simmer  first  unfaulds  her  robes, 

And  there  the  langest  tarry; 
For  there  I  took  the  last  fareweel 

Of  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

How  sweetly  bloomed  the  gay  green  birk, 

How  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom, 
As,  underneath  their  fragrant  shade, 

I  clasped  her  to  my  bosom ! 
The  golden  hours,  on  angel  wings, 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie; 
For  dear  to  me,  as  life  and  light, 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 


ROBERT  BURNS  91 

Wi'  mony  a  vow  and  lock'd  embrace 

Our  parting  was  fu'  tender, 
And,  pledging  aft  to  meet  again, 

We  tore  oursels  asunder. 
But  oh !   fell  death's  untimely  frost 

That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early ! 
Now  green's  the  sod  and  cauld's  the  clay 

That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary! 

Oh!  pale,  pale  now  those  rosy  lips 

I  aft  hae  kiss'd  sae  fondly! 
And  closed  for  aye  the  sparkling  glance 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly! 
And  mouldering  now  in  silent  dust 

That  heart  that  loved  me  dearly; 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary! 

(Upon  the  wrought-up  temper  of  the  company  the  effect  of 
this  enchanting  song,  all  aglow  with  a  lover's  soul,  is  most 
extraordinary.  With  the  first  word  eyes  begin  to  mist.  Upon 
the  last,  another  demonstration  follows.  Aroused  to  an  irre- 
pressible pitch  of  tumultuous  delight,  the  guests  again  over- 
whelm the  Poet  with  tears,  embraces,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 
The  confusion  over,  the  Poet,  with  his  characteristic  unaf- 
fected simplicity  and  enthusiasm,  addresses  the  company 
pressing  around  him} : 

POET:  The  subject  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  passages 
in  my  life.  I  regard  the  lines  as  being  in  my  happiest 
manner.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  is  the  still  glowing  prejudice 
of  my  heart  that  throws  a  borrowed  lustre  over  the  merits 
of  the  composition.  She  was  not  only  beautiful,  but 
lovely.  Her  form  elegant.  Her  features  not  absolutely 
regular,  but  combining  in  a  countenance  of  winning 


92  ROBERT  BURNS 

sweetness,  an  expression  of  tenderness,  intelligence,  and  a 
generous  spirit. 

(The  Poet  pauses  —  then  breaks  into  apostrophe.) 
Thou  busy  power,  remembrance,  cease,  when  I  would 
turn  to  those  scenes  —  scenes  in  strong  remembrance  set, 
scenes  never,  never  to  return. 
(Poet  pauses.) 

Still,  however  dear,  it  is  a  memory,  which  these  lines  hal- 
low. This  voice  which  I  hear,  is  living,  and  so  touches  me, 
because  a  seeming  echo  from  "  by  the  winding  Ayr," 
where,  in  a  dear  lassie,  "  Highland  Mary,"  in  a  figure,  is 
restored  to  me. 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  A  seeming  echo,  Mr.  Burns?  Per- 
chance it  may  be  real. 

POET:  I  cannot  understand  your  Grace. 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  Are  you  not  conscious,  sir,  of  having 
been  the  subject  of  a  prophecy? 

POET:  The  subject  of  a  prophecy! 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  Yes,  sir. 

POET:  By  whom  —  myself,  or  by  another? 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  Another,  sir. 

POET:  Humanity,  or  sprite,  Madam? 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  A  sane,  safe,  and  charming  sample  of 
humanity,  I  can  assure  Mr.  Burns. 

POET  :  A  charming  prophet !   Thank  you,  Madam  —  a  leg  to 
stand  on.   A  charming  prophet  should   not  confute  his 
character,  and  be  a  prophet  of  evil. 
(The  Duchess  does  not  answer  the  implied  question.) 

POET:  You  are  silent,  Madam. 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  The  disclosing  hour,  sir,  approaches. 

POET:  Lady  Gordon  knows  more  of  this  personal  prophecy, 
than  I  myself.  Truly  I  feel  honored.  I  am  sure  she  will 
allow  me  to  question  her  information  more  definitely,  and 
ask:  When  the  fulfilment? 


ROBERT  BURNS  93 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  This  night. 

POET:  This  night! 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON  :  Really,  sir,  this  night. 

POET:  And  where,  pray,  Madam? 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  This  salon! 

POET:  This  salon! 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  Yes,  sir,  even  this  salon. 
(Pause  —  Poet  puzzled  —  guests  excited.) 

POET:  What  is  it,  Madam  —  what  meanest  thou,  Lady 
Gordon?  I  am  in  astonishment  —  I  am  bewildered 
amidst  the  happenings  since  reaching  the  Capital,  and 
especially  the  maze  of  these  demonstrations. 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  The    singer    will    explain  —  another 
Cassandra,  prophecying  truly,  but  not  believed. 
(Guests  greatly  excited.) 

POET:  A  woman,  then? 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  A  Lassie,  whom,  as  I've  said,  I  have 
invited  hither,  as  artist  for  the  occasion. 

POET:  You  have  promised  I  might  see  her. 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON  :  Yes. 

POET:  Where  is  she? 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  Here. 

POET  (looking  around):  Here? 

DUCHESS  OF  GORDON:  Yes  —  here    in    domino.   Doubtless 
you  will  recognize  her,  as  I  lift  the  hood. 
("  Bonnie  Jean,"  charming  in  simple  attire,  is  now  standing 
by  Lady  Gordon's  side.   As  the  latter  lifts  the  hood,  she 
exclaims) : 

JEAN:  Robin,  Robin,  dinna  ye  remember? 

(They  rush  into  each  other's  arms,  amidst  tumultuous  ap- 
plause of  company.) 

CURTAIN 


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